


The Bachelor(s)

by sarcasmwarrior



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Alternate Universe - The Bachelor Fusion, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, It's The Bachelorette!, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut, lots of character cameos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasmwarrior/pseuds/sarcasmwarrior
Summary: Peggy Carter is The Bachelorette.  Steve Rogers, James Buchanan Barnes, and a slew of other men from the MCU vie for her affection.  The real rose is the friends we made along the way.Steve/Bucky angst with a sprinkling of Peggie/Angie and Natasha/Clint.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic ever... thanks for taking a gamble on me! I began writing this for NaNoWriMo in 2017 and just recently picked it up to edit it. I plan to update weekly, work permitting. I hope you enjoy this needless fluff!

Steve took a deep breath, his finger hovering over the laptop trackpad. With an exhale, he allowed gravity to take charge. His finger dropped with an emphatic click. The screen in front of him flashed a canned message thanking him for his application.

That was it. Steve’s fate was out of his hands. It was now up to the producers of The Bachelorette to decide whether he was a suitable candidate for their show. Steve closed his eyes for a moment, sending a prayer to his mother. In that brief instant, he tried to convey his earnest hope that he would be able to satisfy her final wishes that he find someone to settle down and start a family with. With another breath, he stood up and went about his day, shoving his anxiety about the application to the back of his mind.  
__

Steve’s phone buzzed, startling him from a precariously light sleep. He bolted upright, thrashing against the bed sheets until he remembered where he was. The phone vibrated so intently that it fell off the bedside table onto the carpet below. Steve quickly reoriented himself, and bent over the edge of the bed to retrieve the phone before the call went to voicemail. He swiped to answer, paying no mind to “Unknown number” flashing on the screen. Steve rarely received calls, much less calls this early in the morning, so he figured it must be important.

“Steve Rogers,” he rasped.

“Steve,” the voice on the other end barked, catalyzing Steve’s heartbeat, “I’m glad I caught you. This is Nick Fury of SHIELD Productions. We got your application to be on The Bachelorette, and we’ll be at your home at 3pm today to start filming.” Each word was enunciated crisply, conveying that this was not a request, but an order.

Steve stuttered, struggling to take in the sudden influx of information, “So I got in? I’ll be on The Bachelorette?”

“Yes. Be ready by 3pm at your home for filming. Don’t wear anything with logos or brand names – lay out some outfit options so we can pick when we get there. Any problems with that?” Nick paused for a fraction of a second, “Good. I’ll see you at 3.” The phone beeped indicating the call had ended.

Steve stared at the wall in front of him, still holding the now-silent phone to his ear, trying to accommodate what felt like the Earth shifting around him. He, Steve Rogers, was going to be on a reality TV show. He was going to be on The Bachelorette. Steve’s heart beat rapidly and felt like it was trying to claw his way up his throat. He dropped the phone with a soft thump on the mattress next to him and turned to frantically shift through the contents of his bedside table drawer. After a few seconds of panicked searching, he found what he was looking for: his inhaler. Simply holding the familiar cool plastic deescalated his heart rate. Steve had not needed to use the inhaler since he went through puberty, granted that happened later for him than his peers, but he was still conditioned to be comforted by it. The inhaler had saved his life more than a few times when he was a scrawny, sickly youth.

Steve took deep breath with minimal resistance and clutched the inhaler a little tighter before returning it to the drawer. He had a lot to do before Nick Fury and the film crew arrived at 3.  
__

It was 2:55 and Steve was warily watching his front door from the living room couch like he expected the door to jump off its hinges and reveal The Bachelorette crew behind it. Despite having run ten miles that morning, Steve was feeling antsy and kept fidgeting in his seat. He had barely paid attention to the baseball game he had turned on an hour ago and had to keep glancing at the scoreboard to remind himself who was winning (and which teams were even playing).

There was a knock at the door, and Steve tensed briefly despite the fact that he expected visitors. As he stood and walked to the door, he swept his gaze across his living room and kitchen to confirm that he had indeed disposed of all the leftover pizza boxes and dirty briefs that had littered the floor earlier that morning. He didn’t want to come across as a slob on national television or, more importantly, in front of the bachelorette if she was shown this footage before they met.

Steve opened the front door to find himself eye-to-eyepatch with a tall, dark-skinned man dressed in all black. “Steve Rogers,” the man said, his voice familiar. This must be Nick Fury.

Steve took a half step back and put out his hand for a shake, “Mr. Fury, it’s a pleasure -,” Fury cut him off by ignoring the proffered hand and striding into Steve’s apartment. A small group of people were left in his path, standing on the threshold for a second before following Fury’s lead into the apartment. Steve closed the door and turned to see that the crew was already setting up camera equipment.

“We’ll get a few shots of you at home, looking cozy, soft, and lovelorn, maybe a few of you drawing, and then we’ll go out to Brooklyn Bridge and get more footage of you looking in the distance,” Fury said in one breath as he turned off the baseball game and shifted the window curtains.

Steve nodded, a little overwhelmed by the number of people in his apartment, now making it feel miniscule. As Fury spoke, a pale, dark-haired woman shoved a clipboard and a pen in his hand. “Initial here, here, sign here, date,” she said with a snap of her gum.

Steve tried to skim the paperwork but he was so overwhelmed, he struggled to comprehend the legal jargon. He did as she said anyway, not wanting to slow down the crew. The woman winked at him and walked away with a, “Thanks, Stevie,” tossed over her shoulder.

Another woman with brown hair and a big smile approached him, waving at him by rhythmically undulating her fingers, “Hi, Steve. I’m Angie. I do hair, makeup, and wardrobe for this little production.”

Steve smiled back, comforted by her friendliness and almost-Southern accent. “It’s nice to meet you, Angie. Is what I’m wearing alright for filming? If not, I laid out a few things in my bedroom like Mr. Fury requested.”

Angie took a step back to look him up and down. He had chosen to wear a royal blue crewneck sweater and a pair of well-fitting dark wash jeans. Admittedly, he wore this exact outfit on almost every date he had been on, though those were few and far between, because he thought it brought out the blue in his eyes. Angie apparently agreed because she nodded and stepped forward again, “Looks good to me, but Nat will have to approve. Nat and Nick may have a ‘vibe’ they want you to have,” Angie turned and called, “Hey, Nat! We need your wardrobe approval.”

A small woman with deep red hair looked up from a conversation she was having with the cameraman and walked over, though Steve wasn’t sure if he would qualify it as walking. “Walking” was far too pedestrian of a term for how this woman intensely stalked towards him like she had murder on her mind.

“Natasha,” she nodded at Steve.

“It’s nice to meet you, Natasha,” Steve said with a surreptitious gulp as Natasha looked him up and down. He hadn’t been examined in such a cold, detached manner since his pre-boot camp physical. Steve felt even more exposed than he had during his medical evaluation and resisted the urge to cover himself and turn away.

After an infinitely long five seconds, Natasha broke her intense gaze on Steve and turned to Angie. “We are going for a shy, approachable, artist-next-door vibe for Steve,” she said, “so this works. Just fix the flyaways and powder him up and we’ll be ready to go.” She walked away without any further acknowledgement of Steve.

Steve felt the tension drain from his shoulders as Natasha stalked back to the cameramen. “Is she always so… intense?” Steve murmured to Angie.

“You have to be to get as far as she has in this business.” Angie watched Natasha with admiration in her eyes before turning back to Steve. “Nat has been directing this show for years, practically since it started. Usually these gigs have high turnover, so it’s amazing that she’s held on this long. And she just keeps getting better.” Angie then began rustling through the bag at her side, pulling out a few containers of who-knows-what, but Steve had an inkling all these products were about to be on him. “You got a stool? You may want to sit while I work on you. Also I don’t think I can quite reach your face if you stay standing,” Angie said with a wink.

“Yeah, of course!” Steve said, internally kicking himself for not realizing earlier that this would be an issue. He retrieved the stool from next to the kitchen island and followed Angie into his bedroom with it, deftly dodging the flailing motions that a dark-haired woman was making while talking with Natasha and the cameramen.

“I figured it would be a little less crazy in here,” Angie turned on the bedroom light and motioned for Steve to put the stool next to the window.

Steve did as she said and sat in the stool. Angie set down her bag and put handfuls of product containers on the bedside table. She picked one up that Steve recognized as a small tub of hair gel and got to work.

Angie delicately fussed with his hair so it laid in a neat side part, and Steve let his eyes hover just to the right of her face, not used to having someone this close to him. “So. Why’d you sign up?” Angie casually asked as she continued working.

“I – uh,” Steve paused for a moment before forging ahead, choosing to be honest. It wouldn’t do to make something up now and have to stick with a lie through filming. “Well my mom died a few months ago and I spent a lot of time taking care of her especially towards… the end, and she knew I wasn’t dating because I wanted to spend all the time I could with her. Ma knew I was kind of ignoring my social life and she kept encouraging me to go out with people, make new friends, date. But every time I did, I just couldn’t wait for the date to end so I could go home and spend time with her. That time was precious because I knew she wasn’t going to be around long. So when I saw the ad to sign up for the show, I just thought ‘why not?’. It seemed like a sign that I should try to date again, in ma’s honor. I know she’d want me to find someone to care for and who would care for me,” Steve paused, suddenly realizing how much he had revealed to someone he had just met, “So, uh, yeah. That’s why I applied.” He almost ducked his face down from embarrassment but he didn’t want to move while Angie still had her hands on his hair and ruin her hard work.

Angie chuckled softly, “You’re going to have to get real used to telling that story, hun. I figured I’d ask now so you’d get a little practice in before having to talk about it on camera.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think about what they’d be asking.” Steve could feel the cool edge of anxiety creeping up his spine. “Do you know what else they’ll ask, so I’ll be ready?”

“Of course I do, hun. This ain’t my first rodeo.” Angie said conspiratorially, “They’ll ask why you applied, if you think you’re ready to settle down, the characteristics of your perfect partner, blah blah blah romance, angst, sob story blah. You know, normal dating reality show stuff.”

Though Steve had known his answers to all those questions a few moments ago, he now felt them fly out of his brain leaving only emptiness and the slow climb of anxiety reaching his hindbrain.

Angie must have sensed his panic and said, “You’ll be fine, hun. They’ll refilm it if you really mess up, and there’s always hope in editing.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

Steve tried to be comforted by these words as Angie moved on to powdering his face. “Do they normally contact contestants on the day of filming for the first time? This all seems kind of sudden to me, but I’m new to this.” Steve asked.

“It rarely happens,” Angie said, “You just got lucky because someone dropped out and we were already planning on filming another contestant in Brooklyn today. Knocking out two background pieces in one day is quite a coup in our biz and saves us a boatload of money in travel fees.”

In all the hustle and bustle, Steve had forgotten that he was only one of twelve men competing for the bachelorette’s love. He immediately felt inadequate compared to these men, despite knowing nothing about them.

Before he could mentally enumerate the reasons why he was going to be rejected by the bachelorette immediately, Angie finished with his hair and makeup and Steve was being led back into the living room before he knew it. The camera was set up facing his drafting table by the now-curtainless windows. Natasha looked at him with a critical eye before saying, “Alright, you look ready to go. Sit at the drafting table facing us and we’ll ask you some questions.”

Steve complied, willing his heart rate to slow. A light next to the camera turned on, making Steve flinch and squint. When he acclimated to the brightness, all he could focus on was the camera and five faces staring at him impassively, with the exception of Angie who gave him a thumbs-up and a smile.

Nat stood next to the camera and said, “Alright Steve. Tell the world about yourself.”

“Um, well, I’m Steve,” he said looking at Natasha before thinking maybe he should be looking directly at the camera. He adjusted to do that instead, “I’m 29. From Brooklyn, uh.” Wait, maybe that was wrong. “I’m sorry, Natasha. Where am I supposed to look? You or the camera?” Steve could feel his face flush with embarrassment. This seemed like basic information that he should just know.

A ghost of a grin flashed across Natasha’s face, “Just look at me. It’s more natural. You can start over.”

“Okay.” Steve took a deep breath and began again, “I’m Steve…”  
__

_“I’m Steve, I’m 29 years old, and I’m from Brooklyn, born and raised,” the handsome man said with conviction, if not a little shyly._

_The shot cut to show Steve sketching a monkey on a unicycle and his voice played over the clip, “I’m a freelance artist. I do mostly advertisements and book covers, but sometimes I volunteer at art therapy sessions at the VA. I was in the Army up until two years ago when I decided to come back home to take care of my ma.”_

_The shot cut to now show Steve walking on the Brooklyn Bridge in a dark grey peacoat. The voiceover continued, “I never had much success with dating because I was either in the military or caring for ma. People didn’t really understand why I couldn’t spend all of my time with them, so it never went beyond a date or two.”_

_Another cut, now to Steve leaning against the rail of the bridge, the Manhattan skyline in the background. Steve’s voice slowed a little and got deeper in the voiceover, “My ma died a few months ago. I know it was a long time coming and she’s in a better place now, but it hurts all the same. But I also know that she would kick me in the behind if she saw me moping around, isolating myself. She would want me to put myself out there and find someone to love and cherish.”_

_The shot cut again, back to Steve in the blue sweater speaking to the camera, “So that’s why I’m here. I want to find love. I want to find someone to spend forever with.” Steve huffed an awkward chuckle and smiled._  
__

“Was that alright?” Steve asked Natasha.

“Yeah, that was great. I think we’re good to go. Nick?”

Nick nodded, and the bright light went out and the crew began packing their things. Steve was left sitting at his drafting table, not knowing what to do. He stood and sidled up to Angie who had just finished gathering her things.

“Do you think I did okay?” Steve asked quietly.

“You did great, sugar,” Angie reassured. “These things are always weird to film but you did great. Very articulate and emotional. The girls are gonna love ya.”

Steve smiled, “Thanks. I guess I’m really just hoping one girl loves me: the bachelorette, whoever she is.”

“You know I can’t tell you who she is, but I can tell you she’s a knock-out. She’s probably the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and definitely the best bachelorette we’ve ever had. Whoever she chooses is one lucky guy,” Angie said and then looked down to make sure her bag was secured. The rest of the team seemed ready to head out.

Fury approached with a sheet of paper that he held out to Steve. “This is the list of things we need you to pack for filming. We need you in LA by next Friday, so we’ll book your flights and send you the info. Remember, you have to plan to drop everything in your life for two months, in case you make it to the finale. Bring your passport.”

Steve nodded. He knew this was the case, and at this point there was very little he needed to rearrange to be on the show. Flexibility was a major perk of freelance, and he had no other obligations or friends that would hold him back. Steve didn’t even have a plant for someone to mind while he was gone.

Fury continued, “Alright, we’ll see you in LA next week. Call Darcy if you have any questions,” he motioned to the pale, dark-haired women who stepped forward and offered her card to Steve.

Darcy snapped her gum and said, “It would be the best damn day of my life if you called me, Steve, so don’t hesitate. I can help you with anything, travel plans, wardrobe choices, wardrobe malfunctions –,” Natasha cut her off with a snap of her fingers, despite appearing to be out of hearing distance across the room. Darcy rolled her eyes and smiled at Steve with a wink.

With that, the whole crew bustled out the door. Steve waved goodbye and closed the door with a sigh, sagging against it. Steve’s apartment felt bigger and quieter than it ever had before. He was already looking forward to getting out and going to LA.

Steve glanced at the packing list Fury had handed him. It included athletic gear, hiking clothes, swimwear, winter clothes, a tuxedo, and so many suits. Steve sighed; he didn’t even have to check his closet to know that he had a lot of shopping to do before he left next week.  
__

Steve had checked his suitcase (literally filled with suits) at the service desk at JFK and was now waiting in the security line, nervously shifting his weight from side to side. This was really happening. He was on his way to LA to meet someone who may turn out to be his future wife. Steve imagined what she may be like, grasping at how Angie had described her, filling in the blanks with his ideal characteristics where he could.

His reverie was interrupted when the TSA agent motioned that he should come forward to show his boarding pass and ID. Steve was waved along to the security line. As he was bent over untying his shoes, he heard a minor commotion from the metal detector.

“Look, I have a letter from my doctor right here,” the tall, broad-shouldered man said loudly to the TSA agent, obviously agitated. The man’s dark hair was pulled up in a loose bun that was starting to unravel. The agent accepted the letter and the conversation continued at a lower tone. Steve redirected his attention to his shoes.

Steve made it through the security screening without a problem. He was waiting for his bag and shoes at the conveyor belt when he felt someone step behind him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Man, I hate going through security,” a deep voice said.

Steve turned to face them, but his polite response dried up when he saw the man who had spoken to him. It was the same man who had argued with the TSA about his doctor’s note, but the little that Steve had seen of him then did not do him justice. The man had deep grey eyes, a square jawline, and dark stubble that encompassed smirking lips. In a word, he was hot. Steve cleared his throat, and his mind, before responding lamely, “Yeah, me too.”

The man moved forward to grab his belongings from the conveyor belt, shifting to the side so Steve could get his bag. “I swear, every time I fly it’s like they’ve never seen someone with metal in their body before,” the man continued as he slipped on his black combat boots, not bothering to lace them up.

Steve slipped on his own leather sneakers and replied, “You’d think they’d have a protocol for that. It can’t be that uncommon.”

The man slung his bag over his shoulder casually as he and Steve walked toward the gates, “Yeah, they have a protocol. It consists of poking and prodding innocent travelers even if they have a medical card or doctor’s note.”

Steve grimaced, “That sounds awful.”

They slowed to a stop as they reached a fork leading to either terminal 4 or 5. “Which way you headed?” the man asked.

Steve checked his boarding pass, “Five.”

“Me too. Mind if I walk along with you?”

Steve was simultaneously thrilled by and dreaded this proposition. “Sure. Sounds great.”

The man grinned, “Thanks. Oh hey,” he stuck out his right hand, “I’m Bucky by the way.”

Steve shifted his bag to shake Bucky’s hand, “Steve. Nice to meet you.”

“You too. So, Steve, where are you headed?” Bucky asked companionably as they continued walking.

“LA.”

“What a coincidence! Me too. Though I guess a lot of people probably go between New York and LA every day. Which flight are you on?”

Steve glanced at his boarding pass again, “United flight 107.”

Bucky conferred with his own boarding pass, “Would you look at that! Me too.” He looked up at Steve with a crooked grin that made Steve’s stomach flip, “What are you headed out there for?”

Steve hesitated, embarrassed for inexplicable reasons by the fact that he was going to be on a reality dating show, but he figured it would be best to tell the truth. “I’m going to be on a TV show.” Well, it was technically true, just a little bit censored. Hopefully Bucky wouldn’t question him about it any further.

Bucky’s eyes got wide and he said excitedly, “That’s great, pal! I shoulda known just by looking at you that you were an actor. What show will you be on?”

Steve felt warm, both from the compliment Bucky had given him and his shameful admission, “I’m not an actor. I’m just going to be on The Bachelorette,” he muttered, ducking his head down to avoid Bucky’s intense grey gaze.

“Holy shit,” Bucky said and he stopped walking.

Steve peeked from under his eyelashes to gauge Bucky’s reaction. Bucky was looking at him with an almost-maniacal smile. Steve prepared himself for an onslaught of snide remarks and probing questions.

“Me too.”

Steve’s eyes snapped up to meet Bucky’s. “What?”

“Yeah, me too! That’s why I’m going to LA. I’m going to be a contestant on The Bachelorette too. This is crazy!” Bucky slung a beefy arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him in for a half-embrace. “Fuck, I’m so glad there will be another New Yorker there! I was preparing myself to deal with a bunch of corn-fed Midwesterners and kale-fed Californians.”

The flow of people rushing to their respective gates broke around them, some of the travelers turning to give them dirty looks for standing in the middle of the pathway. Steve paid this no mind, only focused on the experience of being clutched by Bucky and reconciling with the fact that he would be sharing a house with this god for the next two months, if he was lucky. “That’s a load off my mind too. I was worried that I wouldn’t get along with anyone there. Though, then again, you’re not from Queens, are you?” Steve teased.

“Hell no, Steve! Brooklyn all the way. You?”

“Brooklyn.” Steve gave Bucky a winning smile.

They began walking towards their gate again, chatting about where they lived, their favorite restaurants in the area, and wondering how it was possible they had not run into each other before. As they talked, Steve could feel himself becoming less tense, and warming up to Bucky. Even so, he forced himself to ignore the pang of desire he felt for him. They were both on their way to date the same woman, so this hardly seemed like the time or place to feel things. Instead, Steve was looking forward to getting to know Bucky and hopefully forging a friendship with him since they’d be stuck in a house together for who-knows-how-long. Plus, Bucky was on a dating show where he would be dating a woman - what were the chances that he was into men?

Steve and Bucky finally made it to their gate and sat to wait for the boarding process to begin. There was a lull in the conversation for a few seconds, but then Steve blurted, “Why do you want to be on the show? You don’t seem like you’d have any trouble dating.” Steve flinched internally. He hadn’t meant to sound like he was flirting.

“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment. Yes, despite my dashing good looks and charisma I have not yet found The One,” Bucky said overly dramatically. “Nah, I got drunk with my little sister Becca one night and she convinced me to apply, not that I remembered the next morning. Let me tell you, it was a fan-fucking-tastic surprise when I got the call from Fury. But I decided to play along, because why not? I ain’t got anything else going on, other than my job, but the job will always be there,” Bucky said with a shrug. “Why did you sign on?”

“I didn’t go out much before, and I saw the commercial asking for applicants so I also thought why not?” Steve glazed over the deeper reason why he was on the show, not wanting to be a downer. “I have to admit though, I’ve never seen The Bachelorette or The Bachelor. I have no idea what I’m getting into.”

“What?! You’ve never seen it. Oh, Stevie, you’re in for a hell of a time,” Bucky exclaimed.

Steve gulped and tried to reassure himself, “How bad can it really be? It’s just twelve guys living in a house together all trying to woo the same woman, right?”

“Well, yeah, but there’s always a fuck ton of drama. There’s always at least one dude who’s there for the ‘wrong reasons’,” Bucky explained with air quotes. Steve saw a bright flash of metal as Bucky put his hands down but he only assumed he was wearing a bracelet or ring. “There’s a lot of alcohol and they don’t let you have your phone or contact the outside world. Everyone goes a little stir-crazy after a week or two. Supposedly the filming schedule is also pretty intense so they can wrap in two months.”

“What have I gotten myself into?” Steve groaned, leaning down to put his head in his hands. He had survived the military for years, doing things that many would consider impossible, but this sounded like an insurmountable challenge.

Bucky chuckled and patted Steve’s back, “It’ll be fine, pal. I’ll be right there with you the whole way. Or at least til the lovely lady kicks my sorry ass out.”

Steve tried to take comfort in Bucky’s sentiment. A tinny voice came on the intercom instructing them it was time to board, and Steve sat up with a sigh, “What seat are you?”

Bucky glanced at his boarding pass again, “3A. You?”

“4F. Guess I’ll see you when we get to LA,” Steve said, a little sad that he wouldn’t be sitting next to Bucky for the almost 7-hour flight.

Steve’s disappointment must have shown, because Bucky responded, “Don’t worry about it. I was planning on sleeping the whole flight anyway. I probably just would have ended up annoying you with my snoring.” Bucky lightly punched Steve’s shoulder and Steve rolled his eyes in response.

This was going to be a long two months. If he lasted that long.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve and Bucky were picked up in a black town car from the airport. They were both groggy from the flight so they didn’t talk much, choosing to spend the drive in companionable silence. 

When the car pulled up in front of an opulent hotel in downtown LA, Steve asked Bucky, “Is this where we’re filming? I thought there was a house or something?”

“Nah, they’re probably just holding us here for the day until we all head to the house and make our grand entrances.” Bucky continued talking when they got out of the car and proceeded into the hotel lobby, “Some of the guys may have to prep for whatever dramatic shit they have planned to make the bachelorette fall in love with them at first sight.”

“What? Everyone doesn’t just walk up and introduce themselves like people normally do on dates?” Steve felt woefully unprepared for this scenario. 

“Yeah, it’s crazy. Some guys dress up in costumes to get her attention. Others give gifts or recite poetry. It’s all very awkward, but the guys just want to distinguish themselves from the rest of the pack.”

“Are you doing anything like that?” Steve asked. Either way, he knew he was just going with an old-fashioned introduction. The idea of dressing up in a superhero suit or something just felt uncharacteristic for him.

Buck smiled slyly, “You’ll see. I ain’t showing all my cards this early in the game.”

Steve and Bucky were then approached by the same dark-haired woman who had given Steve her card (and lurid looks) last week, Darcy. “Steve! Bucky! I’m glad you made it.” She paused and whistled, “Wow, they sure know how to make ‘em in Brooklyn.”

Steve blushed. 

Bucky smiled and said, “You know I’m a one-woman kinda guy, Darce. Even if I haven't met her yet and that woman is a twelve-guy kinda gal.”

“Psh, fine. Can’t blame me for trying one last time,” Darcy said with a teasing smile. “Anyway, you guys have about three hours before I need you in the limos to the house. Here are your room keys so you can change and get ready. Let me know if you need anything at all.”

Steve thanked Darcy and headed toward the elevator. He walked a few steps before realizing Bucky hadn’t followed him. He turned to see Bucky talking with Darcy in hushed tones. It must be something about his grand entrance later. Steve shook his head with a smile and continued up to his room.

Three hours later, Steve was waiting in the lobby in a light grey suit and navy tie, nervously shifting his weight from side to side again. There seemed to be groups of men scattered about who were there to compete as well, but Steve did not know how to approach them. He stayed rooted in place until he felt a hand on his back.

Steve turned to see Bucky smiling at him, “You clean up good.” His eyes briefly flitted up and down Steve’s body.

Steve took in the sight of Bucky in a well-fitted black suit with a black shirt and tie. “You too,” Steve said faintly. He briefly had to remind himself that he was here to date a woman, not Bucky.

Darcy bustled over with a clipboard in hand, “Alrighty, gentlemen. Can I have you two and you two,” she gestured at Steve and Buck and two other men, “in one limo? Head out to limo number three.” She jotted something on the clipboard and walked away. Steve looked at Bucky and then at the two other men and shrugged.

The group clustered as they walked out to the limo with a number three leaning on the front window. As they did, Steve noticed that one of the men had a quiver strapped across his back and a bow in hand. They all clambered into the back of the limo, Steve holding the door open for the rest of the men before climbing in and sitting in the empty seat next to Bucky. He found himself across from an attractive dark skinned man with a kind smile and soothing presence. The man leaned across the distance between the seats with a hand outreached, “Sam Wilson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Steve clasped his hand, “Steve Rogers. Likewise.” As Bucky and Sam acquainted themselves, Steve turned to the other man to introduce himself, but he was closely analyzing the fletching of an arrow. Instead of reaching out for a handshake, Steve instead waved an awkward greeting and said, “Steve.”

The man nodded without looking up from his task and replied, “Clint Barton.”

Sam elbowed Clint in the side, “Don’t mind Clint. He’s got a thing for archery. He’s aiming to shoot his way into the bachelorette’s heart.”

Clint finally looked up, “That pun’s not half bad. Mind if I use it? You know the producers go nuts for that kind of shit.”

“Sure, man, as long as you come up with some puns for me. Good luck trying to find romantic counseling puns.” Sam’s deep brown eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Are you a counselor?” Steve asked.

Sam answered, “Yeah. I’m a counselor at a VA in DC.”

Steve hesitated a moment. He didn’t like to be that guy whose entire identity was his military service, but it seemed reasonable to disclose this information given Sam’s line of work. “I’m actually an Army vet. Glad to have someone like you around in case my anxiety gets the best of me.” 

Bucky shifted in his seat next to him. “Me too,” he said quietly with a slight downturn of his lips.

Steve turned and grinned tightly at Bucky.

“I was Air Force pararescue,” Sam shared.

“Ringling Brothers,” Clint said gravely while stroking the arrow’s fletching. His statement managed to break the building tension in the limo, and the three other men huffed laughs.

“What?” Clint said, looking up at them, “It was awful! They treat their animals badly and -.”

Sam cut him off with a clap on the shoulder, “We believe you man.” With a sigh indicating a shift in topic, Sam said, “Anyway, where are you guys from?”

“Brooklyn,” Steve and Bucky said at the same time. They looked at each other and smiled.

“Okay, Wonder Twins,” Sam said sarcastically, “How about you, Clint?”

“All over. Grew up in a travelling circus.”

“You make a lot more sense now,” Sam joked good naturedly.

There was a lull in the conversation that Bucky broke by asking, “Do you guys have any idea where we’re going? I know we’ll be at a house, but I have no clue where it is.”

Sam smiled and said, “Well as a Bachelorette superfan, I can tell you that we’re going to Agoura Hills. It’s northwest of downtown, about a 45 minute drive.”

“Thank you, Superfan Sam,” Bucky said. “Can you tell us anything about who the bachelorette may be? I didn’t watch the last season of the Bachelor and Steve here’s never seen the show.”

Sam sat forward, “I’m not gonna lie, I’ve spent a lot of time on a lot of fan forums and it seems like everyone agrees that the new bachelorette is going to be Peggy.” He paused after saying this, waiting for a reaction that never came. Steve, Bucky, and Clint just looked at him cluelessly. Sam rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you guys didn’t hear about this! Peggy is badass and intelligent and gorgeous to boot. She made it to the final three, but she walked out because she said she deserved better than the guy who was the bachelor. Seriously, like the whole internet broke. #WeDeserveBetter was trending for almost a full 24 hours with stories of the shit women have put up with in relationships. Peggy was a popular contestant before, but she became an icon overnight. Fury would be an idiot if he didn’t convince her to be the bachelorette this season.”

“Fuck,” Clint swore reverently, “Now I’m glad I accidentally applied for this show instead of America’s Got Talent.”

Steve was also feeling better about his decision. From Sam’s description, Peggy sounded like Steve’s kind of woman. He snuck a peak at Bucky to see how he reacted to the information; Bucky was looking down at his hands in his lap and with a sly grin. Steve couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. He tried to tell himself this was because Bucky would now be a stronger competitor since he may actually be interested in the bachelorette, and Steve was in it to win it.

Steve cleared his throat and asked the men, “So, do you guys have any big plans for breaking the ice with Peggy? Or whoever the bachelorette is.” He still wanted to know what Bucky was going to do.

Clint spoke up, “Well, I’m not sure if you could have guessed, but I’m planning on doing some archery.” He gesticulated emphatically with a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, which Sam narrowly avoided.

“I don’t have any skills quite like that, though I guess I could have her sobbing about her relationship with her parents within a few minutes. That probably wouldn’t make a great first impression,” Sam joked. “No, I’m going with a classic romantic tactic.” He pulled aside the front of his blazer to reveal a red rose in the inside pocket. “I figured she’ll be giving us a lot of roses, she deserves to get at least one for herself this season.”

“That sounds pretty good, you guys. But you had better hope you’re going before me,” Bucky said with an air of swagger.

Sam groaned, “Shit, you’re one of those guys. Well at least I can see you’re not dressed up as a shark or something equally idiotic. What are you gonna do?”

Steve shifted a bit closer to Bucky, hoping he would reveal something.

Bucky leaned back and crossed his arms, shaking his head, “Nope. Not gonna tell you. I don’t want to make it too easy for you.”

“Well alright then, Bucky Barnes, international man of mystery,” Sam said. “How about you, Steve? Got any fireworks stashed in there?”

Steve felt unprepared and a little ashamed compared to the other men, but admitted, “No, I’m just going do a good old-fashioned introduction.” His stress levels mounted and a small voice in his head whispered he was an imposter who wouldn’t even make it past the first night.

“Classic. I’m sure she’ll love it, man,” Sam said with a kind smile that reassured Steve that he was doing the right thing. 

Steve’s tension melted minutely. “Thanks. I hope so.”

The limo slowed to a stop. Clint’s head whipped back and forth as he tried to see out the window behind him. “Are we here? Is Peggy out there? Is it time?”

Steve could see well-groomed topiaries lining the driveway they were in. Beyond that, there were tents and trailers and dozens of bustling people, but there was no house in sight. “No,” Steve said, “I think we’re at a staging area. They probably have to clean up our hair and makeup before we go to the house.”

Just as he said that, the limo door was opened by someone who must be an onset assistant. The assistant held out a basket for them to put their phones in for the duration of filming. She then ushered the men through the organized chaos to a tent with vanities and bright lights set up and instructed them to each sit in a chair in front of a mirror. Hair and makeup artists swooped in and started fussing with their hair and powdering their faces. 

“Where is Angie?” Steve quietly asked the pink-haired girl smoothing down his cowlick.

“She’s the head hair and makeup artist, so she pretty much only works with Pe-- the bachelorette,” she corrected herself with a wide-eyed grin. “You’ll definitely see her around the house though once you move in. She’s very hands-on and wants to be sure everyone looks their best on camera.”

From his brief interaction with Angie a week ago, he wouldn’t expect anything less. The girl’s almost-slip up had also confirmed that Peggy was indeed the bachelorette.

Hair and makeup wrapped up and the four men were led back to their limo. Before Bucky got in, Darcy appeared and pulled him aside, “Nope. Not you, my buddy Bucky.” Darcy dragged him away with a hand still unnecessarily gripping his bicep, leaving Steve, Clint, and Sam behind. 

An assistant wearing a headset opened the limo door and then climbed in after them. “Don’t worry, I’ll be instructing you guys when to go,” he said, obviously perceiving their apprehension. 

All of the men were quiet as the limo slowly proceeded up the driveway. Steve stared out the window, both hoping for and dreading a glimpse of the house. It came into view within a minute, and then Steve could finally see the bachelorette standing by the front path. Steve’s heart thudded loudly in his chest.

She was stunning. She had fair skin, dark hair, and cherry red lips. A long, shimmering gold dress hugged her curves.

“That’s Peggy. IllBeBach from the Bachelorette fan forum owes me five bucks,” Sam said quietly.

The assistant listened to something through his headset then said, “You’re on, Sam.”

Sam took a slow breath in and out, buttoned his blazer, and opened the limo door.

Steve could hear Sam warmly say, “Hi, Peggy,” with a laugh, before the limo door closed behind him. Steve watched as Sam walked up to Peggy, the rose extended, and Peggy smiled brilliantly. Steve’s breath stalled for a second; he looked down to try to quell his rising anxiety. By the time he looked out the window again, Sam was walking away from Peggy and into the house.

“Alright, Clint. You ready? Have everything you need?” the assistant asked.

“Yeah, I should be good to go.”

“Straight shooting,” Steve said to Clint with a salute. Clint nodded his thanks and got out of the limo.

Clint approached Peggy, but before he reached her, he veered to the side to pluck a flower from a bush. He brought the flower to her, held it under her nose, and said something. Peggy raised her eyebrows and kissed the flower. Clint then threw the flower in the air, nocked an arrow in his bow and released. The arrow soared, perfectly slicing the flower in half. The flower pieces fell to the ground just behind Peggy, but the arrow continued its path in the dark night, unhindered by the little resistance put forth by the flower. Peggy watched as the arrow disappeared and said something to Clint. He scratched the back of his head, gave an awkward hug to Peggy, and then jogged off, presumably to find the arrow.

Steve sighed and started to shift towards the limo door.

The assistant touched his shoulder, “No, not yet, Steve. Bucky’s up first.”

Steve frowned, but sat back in his seat again. Bucky was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly there was a rumble in the distance that grew louder as it drew nearer. A dark blur sped past the limo. Steve practically pressed his nose against the window for a closer look.

Bucky was on a motorcycle, turning to make another pass of the driveway. He revved the engine and accelerated into a wheelie past the limo. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of Bucky; he was so hot, his hair blowing behind him with a confident smile on his face. Steve was grateful that he was the only contestant left in the limo, because the others surely would have been able to read his attraction to Bucky just by looking at his face.

Bucky turned one last time and stopped a few yards from Peggy, cutting the engine and leaning the motorcycle on the kickstand. He greeted Peggy with a hug, and they talked for a minute before Bucky walked into the house.

Steve had been so entranced by Bucky’s grand entrance that he had forgotten to be nervous about his own. He was now regretting not planning out exactly what he was going to say. Steve had a minute to collect his thoughts as the assistant told him to wait for someone to wheel Bucky’s motorcycle off the set.

Then it was time to meet the woman who may be his future wife. Steve took a resolute breath in and out and opened the limo door. He stood, looking down to button his jacket before raising his eyes to meet Peggy’s.

“Hi,” he said with a smile and walked forward. For a moment, Steve thought of hugging Peggy, but then he chose to shake her hand instead. He had always felt uncomfortable hugging people he had just met, so why should this be any different? She gripped his hand with confidence and shook, beaming up at him.

“Hi,” Steve said again, “I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Steve. I’m Peggy. It’s nice to meet you as well.” 

Steve was surprised to hear Peggy’s British accent and faltered for a moment, “I – uh – I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything or dress in a costume or something. I’m new to this reality dating show thing. And kind of new to dating in general. I was honestly just excited to meet you, and I didn’t think to come up with a way to make it exciting for you to meet me.”

Peggy’s smile grew and her eyes sparkled in the bright lights used for filming, “That is quite alright, Steve. To be honest with you as well, I was getting tired of all the antics so it is refreshing to meet someone in a normal way for a change.”

Steve smiled back, appreciating that Peggy was trying to soothe his nerves, “Thank you for saying that. I hope you’ll save some time to talk with me inside tonight. I promise I only have normal conversations,” he tried to joke.

“Absolutely. I look forward to it, Steve. I will see you inside,” Peggy said with a final nod, dismissing Steve. He walked up the short path to the front door, with his hands in his pockets and smiling to himself.

When he entered the house, he was momentarily stunned by the large interior where seven other men stood socializing with drinks in hand surrounded by no less than five camerapeople and a slew of other assistants. The space had deep red walls and taupe and navy furnishings. Candles were scattered about in all visible rooms, some slightly too close to the heavy curtains draping all the windows. One entire wall was replaced with gaping glass doors that opened to a pool encompassed by more candles and shimmering lights. It wasn’t his taste, but Steve wouldn’t mind living here for a few months (assuming he made it past this evening).

Steve saw Bucky chatting with a few guys, a drink in his hand. Steve managed to catch his eye and motioned at his drink, silently asking where the bar was. Bucky pointed towards an arch in the back corner that presumably led to the kitchen. Steve nodded his thanks and walked into an equally impressive kitchen. In the center of the room was an island littered with a wide variety of alcohol, from light beer to champagne. He chose a single finger pour of the Macallan 12 year - it wouldn’t do for him to get sloppy on the first night, but he wouldn’t deny himself the treat. Perhaps it would even have the added bonus of calming his nerves.

As he replaced the cap on the bottle, Steve heard someone else enter the room. A heavy hand clapped his shoulder and pulled him roughly backwards a few inches so the person could survey the boozy spread. Steve turned to address the man, but he stopped himself when he felt another presence at his periphery that he identified as a camera person. Steve didn’t want to be the cause of drama on the show so he politely said, “Excuse me,” and moved to return to the living room. This effort was hindered because the man’s hand still gripped his shoulder tightly. Steve put his hand on the unwanted appendage to lift it off but it squeezed tighter, to the point where Steve half expected a bruise to bloom by the morning. Steve swiveled his head to look at the man. 

The man was a few inches shorter than Steve, but definitely had enough muscle to be a bodybuilder or some sort of athlete. He had an angular jaw with unkempt scruff and dark eyes that communicated a threat. “Yeah, excuse you,” the man said gruffly before releasing Steve and redirecting his attention to the bottles in front of him.

Steve frowned and raised an eyebrow, making eye contact with the cameraman in the kitchen before purposefully walking back to the main room. The men there had separated into groups of two or three, chatting among themselves. As he debated whether to approach one of these groups, Steve saw a young, thin man walk through the front door. He looked as nervous as Steve felt. Steve’s choice was made for him.

“Hi, I’m Steve,” he greeted.

“Peter,” the man said breathlessly with a nod.

Steve wasn’t sure if he should ask, but his curiosity won out, “How did your intro with Peggy go?”

“Ugh,” Peter’s face crumpled, “It was awful. I’m a photographer, so I tried to take a polaroid selfie of us, but I dropped the camera on her foot.”

Steve searched for a reassuring phrase but drew a blank, “That does sound bad.”

“Yeah, but she was super nice about it. At least she didn’t ask me to leave immediately.”

“True.” Steve took a sip of his drink, and then realized he had rudely waylaid Peter from getting his own. “Ah sorry, should have offered before. Want a drink? The kitchen’s back there,” he motioned and couldn’t help noticing the aggressive man prowling back into the main room, a large glass of amber liquid in his hand.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not taking any more chances tonight. I don’t want to make any mistakes,” Peter hesitated before continuing, “Plus I don’t want to be within five feet of Brock over there,” he said, jutting his chin in the aggressive man’s direction.

Steve scanned the area for cameras before joking under his breath so only Peter could hear, “Brock? Is that his name? I was under the impression his name was ‘Asshole’.”

Peter huffed a laugh, “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“How do you know him?”

“I had the pleasure of sharing a limo with him from the hotel. Dude kept giving me shit about my camera and bragging about how he was a pro fighter. I’m used to getting shit from people but an hour in an enclosed space with a guy who keeps punching my arm to get a rise out of me is not my idea of fun,” Peter’s voice cracked to a higher pitch at the end and he cleared his throat.

Steve glared at Brock for a second before looking back at Peter, “Well he won’t mess with you again. I’ve got your back.”

Peter smiled, “Thanks -,” his smile faltered, “Fuck I forgot your name. What was it again?”

Steve smiled back at Peter, “Steve. No problem.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not every day that a guy I just met offers to help me deal with a bad element.”

“I hate bullies,” Steve said simply before taking a sip of his drink with finality.

After a second’s silence, Peter asked, “So, where are you from?”

The pair continued chatting, discovering a few common connections, both being from New York and involved in the art scene there. Their conversation was interrupted as another man with dark skin and hair buzzed short walked through the front door. Steve waved him over. The man introduced himself as T’Challa, a diplomat from Wakanda living in DC for the past few years. Steve, Peter, and T’Challa made small talk until a piercing whistle startled all of the groups into silence. The woman with flaming red hair – Steve floundered for her name for a few seconds – Natasha stood in the center of the room lowering her fingers from her lips.

“Alright, gentlemen,” she said with authority that did not require volume, “I need you to form a semicircle here in the middle of the room, in front of the couches. Peggy will be arriving in a few minutes, she’ll say a few words to kick off the season, and then you’re free to pounce.” 

Half of the men laughed at this, but they immediately quieted when Natasha continued speaking. 

“I need you all to have a glass in your hand for this so when Peggy makes a toast it looks natural. It doesn’t have to be alcohol,” she said, glancing at Peter perhaps by coincidence, “but you do need to have something in your glass. Go pour yourself something, and be in place in five minutes.” Without further ado, she walked out the front door, saying something into her headset in a hushed, rushed tone.

Half of the men bolted toward the kitchen as Natasha instructed, including Peter and T’Challa, leaving Steve standing alone tilting his near-empty glass in his hand. He shrugged to himself and followed the pack to the kitchen at a slower pace; he may as well pour himself another finger of scotch because he was unaffected by the first.

Steve wedged an arm between the men clustered at the kitchen island to grab the Macallan, but his hand grasped flesh and bone rather than the expected glass bottle. He retracted his hand and his eyes followed the path of the man’s arm to meet his eyes. 

Bucky smiled at him, his eyes crinkling, taking Steve’s breath away for a moment, “I hope you’re open to sharing this bottle. Because we’re about to be sharing a girlfriend.” He picked up the bottle and poured himself a finger of scotch before passing the bottle to Steve.

Steve released his breath in a half laugh, “That’s not funny, Bucky.” The bad joke melted some of the tension gathered in Steve’s back nonetheless.

Steve and Bucky walked back into the main room together and lined up on the edge of the semicircle next to each other. Bucky clinked his glass against Steve’s, looked him in the eye and said, “На здоровье,” and took a small sip of the scotch. Steve couldn’t help but glance at a droplet of amber liquid that clung to Bucky’s bottom lip until Bucky’s tongue peeked out and swiped it away. Steve was startled back into reality and took a swig of his own drink, surreptitiously glancing around to see if his ogling had been caught on camera. It seemed that all the cameras were being adjusted for the scene by the camera people, so he was in the clear. Sam stepped in on Steve’s other side, nodding at him and Bucky and taking a swig of his beer.

The camera people soon stilled, all in position to capture Peggy’s entrance and the men’s reactions. Natasha reappeared in the middle of the room, snapping her fingers twice to get the attention of the men still talking, “Alright, looks like we’re good to go. I’ll cue her in.” Natasha stepped behind a camerawoman whose camera was trained on the front door, and said into her headset, “Send her in.” 

Silence fell in the main room and the door creaked open, revealing Peggy smiling brilliantly and sparkling in her golden dress. Most of the men started clapping and hooting and hollering for her and Steve joined in, placing his glass on the coffee table in front of him so he could clap. As the commotion died down and Peggy glided toward the group, thanking them, he retrieved the glass again, ready for the impending toast. Several of the cameras turned to face the men and others smoothly shuffled behind the group to get shots of Peggy’s face between the men’s heads. Darcy sidled up to Peggy’s side and handed her a champagne flute half-filled with bubbling liquid that matched Peggy’s dress. Darcy slipped out of the frame and Peggy started her speech, “Hello, gentlemen.”

Steve was once again caught off guard by her crisp British accent and how she spoke with distinction and authority. His stomach flip-flopped and his gaze didn’t waver from her face as she began to speak again. 

“I am grateful to each and every one of you for taking time away from your family, friends, and careers to meet me. I have been assured by the production team that they have cultivated the best of the best for me,” she paused, “And simply from your introductions and seeing you all in this room together, I am forced to agree.” There was a brief uptick at the corner of her mouth. 

Some men chuckled, others nodded in agreement.

“I am looking forward to speaking with each and every one of you tonight. I would like to propose a toast,” Peggy lifted her glass a few inches, “To finding the love that we deserve.” 

She brought the glass to her bright red lips and sipped delicately as the men said in unison, “To finding the love that we deserve,” and followed her lead. As he took a sip of his scotch, Steve’s eyes slid to watch Bucky’s throat roll to accommodate his drink.

Peggy cleared her throat and Steve’s gaze snapped back to her. He tried his best not to look guilty for the cameras. Peggy continued, “But I have the unfortunate duty to report that two of you will not be invited to remain after this evening. There will be a rose ceremony later where only ten of you gentlemen will be asked to stay.“

The men shifted, the air becoming tense as they mutually acknowledged that this was indeed a competition and not a fraternity house.

Peggy broke this moment, “I also have a first impression rose that I may choose to offer to one of you at any point before the ceremony. So, aim to dazzle.” There was a pause before Peggy said, “I am certain you want the evening to proceed without further ado, so which one of you dashing gents wants to sweep me off my feet first?”

Half of the men stepped forward, but a man with dark tousled hair and a goatee strode forward quickly enough to beat the rest.

“M’lady,” he said and offered his arm to Peggy. She raised her eyebrows but took his arm and allowed him to lead her outside to the couches adjacent to the pool. The cameras followed the pair outside, though two stayed in the house to film the men socializing.

Steve recognized the man but could not identify how. It felt like an itch in his brain. He looked at Bucky and Sam, still at his sides, and started to ask, “Who -?”

“Yeah, that’s the Tony Stark,” Sam said, sounding distinctly unimpressed, and taking a swig of his beer. “Tech mogul, pacifist, apparently former playboy. And that guy there,” Sam gestured towards T’Challa with the edge of his pint glass, “Is an honest-to-God prince. The prince of fucking Wakanda. Man, their ratings are going to be through the roof this season.”

Steve clenched his jaw, frowning. How had he possibly been selected to be on this show? He was just an Army veteran turned freelance artist and hermit. Steve was certain that he wasn’t going to make it past this evening, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try his damnedest to talk with Peggy tonight.

“How the fuck did I get here?” Bucky said, echoing Steve’s thoughts. Steve nodded, tilted his drink toward Bucky in a mock toast and took a deep swig.

Natasha materialized at their sides and said sternly, “Language. This is a family show.” Steve had not noticed that over the course of their conversation, a cameraperson had creeped up to them, filming the interaction.

“Apologies, ma’am,” Steve said gravely. Bucky snapped a salute with too much swagger to be serious. With a glare that could kill, she faded back behind the camera crew.

Sam cleared his throat, “Well, anyway…” and did not continue. 

“Do you know any of the other guys?” Steve asked out of morbid curiosity, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, Brock Rumlow over there,” he tilted his glass towards Brock, who was standing in the corner drinking alone, “He’s a professional boxer. Has a bit of a reputation for being violent, more so than your average boxer. And that’s,” he gestured towards a short man with glasses talking with a very uncomfortable Peter, “Arnim Zola. He’s a moderately-famous geneticist, but most people don’t know about him. To be honest, the only reason I recognize him is because my ex-girlfriend was a biologist and hated him. I had to listen to enough rants about his research that I don’t think I’ll ever forget his face. He’s seriously up to some eugenics-level shit,” Sam said with a shiver.

Steve found it hard to imagine that the unassuming man was doing things so horrible, but he trusted Sam’s assessment, “Well thanks for pointing out the people we should avoid.” A glance around the room informed him that there were only three men whom he had not met or heard about. 

One was talking with Clint, laughing jovially and clapping his large hand on Clint’s shoulder. He was tall and muscular and had long braided blonde hair and a well-kempt beard. The other two mystery men were talking with each other. One was thin with wiry muscles and had dark skin and a shaved head. The other had tan skin and dark hair gelled practically vertical and a large smile as he gesticulated his point, some of his beer slopping over the rim of his glass.

Steve took a sip of his scotch before saying, “I think I’ll go introduce myself to the guys I haven’t met yet. May as well actually know the guys I’ll be sharing a house with,” he mentally finished this sentence: assuming I’m not kicked out tonight.

“Dude, don’t forget: we’re trying to woo Peggy, not each other,” Bucky said. Coincidentally, Steve had been reminding himself of this fact since he met Bucky.

Sam slowly turned to look Bucky in the eyes, “So are you saying,” he paused for dramatic effect, “You’re not here to make friends?” Sam’s face bloomed into a shit-eating grin.

Bucky was unamused, “I’ve seen enough of the show to know what you’re playing at, Sam. I was thinking of being your friend, but now I think I’ll just take the role of your archenemy.” 

Sam and Bucky overdramatically scowled at each other before dissolving into laughter. Steve watched them, baffled by this interaction. He resolved to simply walk away, shaking his head.

Steve introduced himself to the two men as planned. Their names were Rhodey and Scott, and they were both engineers. They seemed like nice people but Steve had trouble keeping up with their conversation as he had essentially zero technical knowledge.

While chatting with Rhodey and Scott, Steve noticed that Peter was the first to follow Tony and Peggy outside about ten minutes after they had left. Tony reentered the living room alone, smirking to himself. Moments after this, Steve heard a clatter and turned to see Brock leaving his glass on a table and walking out to the pool, followed by a camera. Less than a minute had elapsed when Peter reentered the room, his hair ruffled and looking frustrated.

Steve extricated himself from Rhodey and Scott with a nod and caught Peter’s eye. “Everything okay, Peter? You weren’t out there long.”

“Yeah, well,” Peter clenched his jaw and looked away, “I was just starting my conversation with Peggy to try to make up for earlier when guess who interrupted us.”

Steve knew Peter meant this rhetorically, but answered nonetheless, “The asshole?” Steve heard Natasha hiss at him from across the room.

“Ding ding ding! Yeah, the asshole,” Peter said, so full of loathing that he did not hear Natasha’s warning directed at him. “He basically physically removed me from Peggy and took my place. There was no way I could wedge my way back in without looking like a total jerk.” Peter kicked at the ground in frustration.

“Hey, from what I’ve heard, Peggy’s a smart woman. She’ll figure out soon enough that he’s a bad guy and she’ll ask him to leave,” Steve reassured. 

“Yeah, I hope so,” Peter still sounded downtrodden and was looking at the floor.

“You know what? I’m going to go interrupt them now. I’ve gotta talk to Peggy anyway, so may as well cut Brock off too. Two birds, one stone and all that,” Steve tried to sound confident as he said this, for Peter’s sake.

Peter snorted a laugh, finally meeting Steve’s eyes, “I would pay to see that.”

“Most of America will be. But you get to see the live show for free,” Steve quipped. He downed the remaining dregs of his drink in one go and left the glass on the coffee table. Steve steeled himself for the impending altercation, and walked with Peter to the sliding glass door. “Watch from here,” Steve motioned to Peter before walking into the warm night with a cameraman on his tail.

Steve saw Peggy and Brock on a veranda next to the pool, sitting on the same couch. Peggy was perched on the edge of the cushion, her ankles crossed, sitting with impeccable posture. Brock was sprawled across half of the couch, legs spread wide, and his arm resting on the back. Brock’s fingers were centimeters from touching Peggy’s arm. He leaned toward Peggy, saying something intently, and moved his hand the remaining distance to stroke her upper arm to her shoulder and then neck. Peggy remained completely still, not reacting to the touch.

Steve cleared his throat, causing Brock to turn and bare his teeth at Steve in what some may interpret as a smile. Steve knew it was a growl. He waved awkwardly and walked to the veranda, “Hi. I’m sorry to interrupt. Peggy, could I steal you away for a bit? I can wait if you wanted to continue talking to Brock though,” Steve said with a smile and a nod towards Brock who still sneered at him.

“I think –,” Brock started to say, but he was cut off by Peggy.

“Thank you for asking - Steve, was it?” Peggy stood, taking a surreptitious half-step away from the man next to her.

Steve nodded, relieved Peggy actually remembered his name.

“Come over then, Steve. Brock, it was a pleasure,” Peggy said tight lipped, dismissing him.

Brock’s thin lips upturned tensely, and he pulled Peggy in for a rough hug. “It was a pleasure, and I’m looking forward to more with you,” he rumbled, still clutching her. Peggy’s hands rested lightly on his shoulders until he let her go. Brock walked past Steve, their shoulders bumping as he went.

Steve took a step toward Peggy, but suddenly a feminine voice yelled, “Wait!” and a blur clacked past him. 

Steve stood in place and chuckled to himself, “Hi, Angie.”

“Hiya, Steve,” she replied, whipping out palettes and brushes. She kneeled in front of Peggy and began to touch up her face. “I swear to God, Pegs. Every time one of those boys hugs you, they take half your face with them,” Angie sighed as she worked.

“I will try harder to fight them off, Ang, but I think they may have certain expectations,” Peggy said with sarcastic emphasis, “This being a dating show and all that.”

Steve laughed from where he stood, caught off guard by Peggy’s wit.

“Alrighty, sweetie, you’re good to go,” Angie said with a final flourish of her brush. 

Angie walked out of the veranda and as she passed Steve he leaned toward her and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to preserve her face.”

Steve heard Peggy emit a surprised laugh, but he just smiled kindly at Angie. 

She smiled back and then bustled behind the cameras again. “Okay, just pretend I never interrupted. And action,” Angie said with verve.

Steve walked toward Peggy, like there hadn’t been a break at all. “Hi,” he said as he sat on the couch a foot or two from Peggy, giving her space to ensure she was comfortable. 

“Hello, Steve,” she replied, expectantly.

“So, I, uh, heard about what you did last season,” Steve said, unsure if this was the right move but taking the plunge nonetheless, “To be honest, I’ve never seen the show and I didn’t know anything about you when I got here, but Sam told me about how you walked off last season. And I, uh,” Steve took a deep breath, “I just wanted to let you know that I respect that. I mean, I respect you for doing that. It takes guts to defy practically the whole world’s expectations and do what you think is right.” 

“Thank you for saying that, Steve. I am afraid I made myself unpopular with most men after having the gall to expect more. But I have always thought that even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say 'No, you move',” Peggy said with a satisfied smile.

Steve’s breath was taken away for a moment because of the profundity of Peggy’s statement. “I hope to someday have the courage that you do,” he said with sincere reverence.

“Something tells me you already do,” Peggy said with a genuine smile.

Steve smiled back, losing himself for a few seconds in her gold-flecked eyes. He then said, “Ahem, I guess this is technically a first date, so maybe I should stick to lighter conversation topics.”

“Perhaps,” Peggy said enigmatically.

“What do you do when you’re not… doing this,” Steve waved his hand at the cameras near them.

She laughed musically, “I’m a civilian contractor for the US military, primarily doing technical consulting. I am currently based in Hawaii.”

Steve’s breath escaped him yet again. Peggy was full of surprises, though that did explain why so many of the men were engineers or affiliated with the military. “That’s amazing! I was in the Army for about nine years actually, but I didn’t do anything as impactful as that.”

“I’m sure you had an impact, Steve. Thank you for your service.” Steve felt sheepish whenever someone thanked him, and ducked his head in embarrassment for a moment. Peggy continued, “Do you mind if I ask why you left?”

“Well, my ma got sick two years ago and she didn’t have anyone to take care of her, so I decided not to reenlist so I could spend her remaining years with her. She died a few months ago, but the time we had together was priceless. I don’t regret leaving the Army for that.” 

Peggy placed her hand on his own as she said sincerely, “I am very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Steve paused and then groaned in exasperation, “Sorry, I know we were trying to keep it light. First date and all that.”

“It’s perfectly alright, Steve. Thank you for telling me about your mother. I -,” Peggy stopped speaking and pursed her lips, looking just beyond Steve.

Steve inferred that another man had approached with the aim of waylaying Peggy. He turned to see Clint hovering there with several cameramen, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. Steve nodded at him.

He looked back at Peggy and clasped the hand that was still resting on his, caressing the back of it lightly with his thumb. “Thank you for your time, Peggy. I hope we’ll get a chance to talk more later. And I promise to not talk about death again,” Steve said with an awkward huff, flinching inwardly from the shit that came out of his mouth.

“I truly hope we will talk later.”

Steve smiled to himself, released her hand, and ceded his place to Clint. That hadn’t gone completely horribly. Maybe Peggy would give him a rose tonight so he could stay and see where their relationship went.  
___

Steve spent the remainder of the evening chatting with the other men. He introduced himself to the man with long, blonde hair. His name was Thor and he was a carpenter from Maine. As he conversed with Thor and the others, he couldn’t help but take note as men cycled in and out from the veranda every ten minutes. Most of them had smiles on their faces but, notably, Arnim Zola, the geneticist Sam had mentioned earlier, returned frowning with red blooming across one cheek. It seems like he may have gotten what was coming to him, Steve thought with satisfaction.

Twenty more minutes passed, and Steve heard the glass door slide open again. This time Peggy stepped through the door. All of the men in the room shifted their bodies toward her and their conversations got quieter. She glided across the room making a beeline toward Steve and Thor.

“Steve, may I talk to you for a minute?” Peggy crooked her finger indicating he should follow her.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve agreed. No good conversation had ever started that way, and he could feel his anxiety returning as he followed Peggy through a hallway. She ducked into a small interior room painted dark blue, furnished only with a couch, a coffee table, and ever-present candles. A single red rose boutonniere rested on the table.

Peggy sat on the couch and patted the space next to her. He sat and took a deep breath, cracking his knuckles.

“Steve, I am sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” Peggy started.

This is it. This is when she asks me to leave. Steve tried to maintain a smile, despite his inevitable impending departure.

“I was caught off guard when we were interrupted earlier, but I really wanted to say –.”

How much I offended her that I have to leave immediately? Steve was finding it harder to quell his nerves and tension seeped into his posture.

“I appreciate how honest and respectful you were, and I know I want to learn more about you, Steve. You made a wonderful first impression. So,” Peggy leaned forward to pick up the rose from the table and held it out to Steve, “Will you accept this rose?”

Steve was shocked into silence. He had not expected this and he stared at the rose in confusion. As the silence dragged on, he realized how weird it must be that he hadn’t responded yet, so he spluttered, “Yes! Yes, of course I’ll accept.”

Peggy smiled brilliantly and moved forward to pin the rose to his jacket. “Thank goodness. I was worried for a moment that you were going to turn me down,” she said as she concentrated on her task.

Steve got a whiff of her floral shampoo as he watched Peggy. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised. I thought I had totally messed up earlier and I was convinced you were going to ask me to leave in private to spare my feelings. If the opportunity to accept a rose from you comes up again in the future, I’ll try to respond faster.”

Peggy completed her task and smoothed his suit lapels, “Well, I have a feeling you will have more opportunities.”

Steve smiled, finally hopeful that his impulsive decision to apply for The Bachelorette may actually have been a good one.  
__

There was a flurry of whispers when Steve reentered the main room. He ducked his head down and made his way to the sofa where Bucky and Sam were watching him with eyebrows raised.

“Well played, Steve,” Sam said, obviously impressed.

Bucky clapped his hand on Steve’s shoulder and shook him in a friendly manner, “I’m not surprised. I mean, just look at you. You ooze gallantry and with a face like that, none of us have a chance.”

Steve blushed furiously, the tips of his ears even reddening.

Sam tweaked his ear, “Wow, would you look at that. He’s color-changing too.”

“I wonder if it goes all the way down,” Bucky leered at the collar of Steve’s shirt as if he could magically unbutton it to investigate.

Steve’s heart beat faster and he could feel his slacks tighten minutely at the implication. “My eyes are up here, jerk,” Steve said to cover up how Bucky had affected him.

Before Bucky could throw back a retort, they were interrupted by a repeated clinking on a glass. Peggy stood in the middle of the room with a champagne flute in one hand and a spoon in the other, “Gentlemen, it is now time to proceed to the rose ceremony.”  
__

Peggy gave the tenth and final rose of the evening to Brock. “I’m sorry, Arnim and Peter, that means that you both must go home.” Steve saw Peter look crestfallen.

Both men stepped down off the risers to say farewell to Peggy. Peter hugged Peggy, who whispered in his ear for a few seconds. When he stood back, Peter had a small smile on his face. Arnim then moved in for his own hug, but Peggy moved back in tandem, holding out her hand for a shake. She just nodded to him, saying nothing.

The rest of the men moved off the risers to say goodbye to Peter and Arnim. Steve went straight to Peter and gave him a hug.

“It was nice to meet you tonight, Peter. I’m sure you’ll be able to find what you’re looking for back in New York. In fact,” Steve reached into his jacket to pull out the pocket sketchbook and golf pencil he always carried, “I want to hear all about it when you do. Or if you just want to grab coffee sometime, give me a call.” He jotted down his phone number and tore out the page for Peter. Steve had liked the awkward young photographer and he was in desperate need of friends.

“Thanks, Steve. I definitely will call you. Maybe I can even convince you to come visit me in Queens,” Peter said with a laugh.

“Not a chance in hell,” Steve joked.

Peter and Arnim left shortly after. The camera people packed up their things, and Darcy led the remaining ten men upstairs to where they would be staying during filming. They were sleeping two to a room that had been assigned to them by someone on the production team. Darcy pointed the men into their respective rooms as they all traversed through the wing until only Buck and Steve were left in front of the room at the end of the hall. Darcy left them there with a wink and a suggestive smile.

“How about that? You get to enjoy my snoring for at least the next week. What a treat for you!” Bucky said and walked into their room. “I call this bed!” he yelled out at Steve who remained in the hall with only his existential angst for company.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini trigger warning for PTSD/anxiety attacks in this chapter. Just a heads up!

Steve woke up early the next morning both because of his jet lag and his normal routine. He pulled on a pair of workout shorts and a tight t-shirt emblazoned with “ARMY” on the front as Bucky breathed methodically across the room from his own bed. Despite his threats, he hadn’t snored at all during the night (and Steve would know because he spent the majority of it tossing and turning). Steve tip-toed out of the room with his running shoes in hand and went down the stairs to the kitchen. It was eerily quiet and still compared to the bright lights and rushing people the rooms had contained not six hours ago.

Steve poured himself a glass of tap water and drained it in one pull. He then perched on a stool next to the kitchen island to lace up his sneakers when he heard quiet footsteps from the staircase. He looked up to see Sam staring back at him quizzically, stopping for a half second on the third stair from the bottom, and then proceeded into the kitchen waving a silent greeting.  
“Going running?” Sam asked in a whisper as he sat in the stool next to Steve’s and pulled on his own running shoes.

“That’s the plan, assuming they let me out,” Steve said. He was unsure if the crew would be up and about yet and whether they would allow him to run beyond the confines of the compound, as he was starting to think of it.

“Tell you what, I’ll help you bust out of here if you let me join you for your run. I had the same plan.”

Steve agreed and the pair left through the front door, both checking in either direction for the ubiquitous set assistants and cameras. They successfully made their escape without detection and jogged down the long driveway and then to the paved road of the subdivision beyond.

“How far were you planning on running?” Sam tried to ask casually as he struggled for breath.

“Ten miles, give or take,” Steve said with ease.

“Geez, no wonder you were up so early. It would take half the morning to run that distance,” Sam exclaimed.

“No, it usually takes a little over an hour.” On a slow day, Steve finished mentally. “I’m up this early every day anyway. It’s the one thing I tried to keep up with after leaving the military.” Steve slowed his pace incrementally, hoping Sam wouldn’t notice that he was doing it for his benefit.

“Yeah, I still keep military time too. My clients are all vets so it makes sense to be awake when they are,” Sam said breathing more easily than before.

Steve and Sam continued chatting amicably about their experiences at their respective VAs and their lives since leaving the military, decidedly avoiding heavier topics. Three miles into their run, Steve relented to Sam’s pestering and agreed to run only six miles that day (though he vowed to himself to fit in some swimming or weightlifting later). As they ran back up the long driveway, the flurry of movement in the production tents was accelerating as staff arrived and prepared for the day of filming ahead. Steve and Sam made it back into the house without being chastised for leaving the compound. Each bedroom had its own en suite, so they went their separate ways to wash up.

Bucky’s bed was vacated, the blankets disheveled in comparison to Steve’s bed made up to military precision, and he wasn’t anywhere in the room or bathroom. Steve assumed he had just missed Bucky as he was parting ways with Sam. With a shrug, Steve proceeded to shower and change into casual jeans and a t-shirt. He figured he’d be warned if he had a date with Peggy, and he could change into nicer attire then. 

Steve alighted the stairs once more and followed the sounds of a small commotion from the living room. Before he could investigate, he was waylaid by a makeup artist at the base of the stairs who quickly powdered his face. He moved into the main room after he met her approval. All of the men were standing around Natasha and there were some camerapeople fidgeting with their equipment in the periphery of the room. 

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Steve, making him immediately and incomprehensibly feel guilty. “Now that you’re all here, we’re going to stage one of you finding and reading the first date card from Peggy,” Natasha said, “Clint, I want you to do that this time.”

Clint comically pointed to himself and mouthed, “Me?” Natasha did not react to his antics and continued directing the other men into place for the scene. Steve was instructed to sit on the couch next to Bucky and look convincingly engaged in conversation. Bucky shifted closer to Steve when Thor flopped down on his other side, taking up the majority of the couch comfortably lounging. Steve’s quads tensed as Bucky’s knees gently knocked against his own; Steve shifted his legs slightly to the side.

“I think we’re supposed to be having an enthralling conversation now, Steve. Enthrall me.” Bucky relaxed back into the cushion and pinned Steve in place with a scintillating look, his grey eyes shining like silver. Steve’s stomach flip-flopped as he lost his train of thought, distracted by Bucky’s intense gaze.

“You’re really nailing it right now,” Bucky said sarcastically, not breaking eye contact.

Steve sputtered a laugh, “Alright, jerk. How about you ask something first?”

“Fucking punk. Fine.” Bucky paid no mind to Natasha’s head whipping in his direction. He paused, thinking for a moment, chewing on his tongue. “Okay, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

“An FBI agent,” Steve responded without hesitation.

“Well you’re definitely built like one. Why?” Bucky asked.

“I’ve always hated bullies. I haven’t always been this big,” Steve admitted, “I actually was really thin and sick all the time when I was younger, so I wasn’t exactly popular in school. I figured if I worked for the FBI, I’d be bringing in the world’s worst bullies.”

“And what are you doing now? Are you in the FBI? I guess all I really know about you is that you’re from Brooklyn and you’re also ex-military,” Bucky asked leaning forward a little.

Steve leaned in minutely as well. “I’m an artist,” though he hardly thought he deserved the title some days, with the repetitive stream of romance book covers and pharmaceutical ads he worked on. He tried to move the conversation past this point, “Anyway, what do you do?”

Bucky was undeterred and his eyes widened, “Really? What kind of art do you do?”

Steve groaned a little. He really thought “artist” was too strong a term for what he did, “It’s not really art. I just do freelance work for ad firms and authors.”

“That’s amazing, Stevie! Is there anything I may have seen?” Bucky perked up, finally enthralled by the conversation.

“Maybe?” he then name-dropped a few of the brands and straight-to-grocery-store books he had done work for.

“Some of those definitely sound familiar. The second I have internet access again, I’m looking them up.”

Steve reddened slightly at the thought of Bucky seeing the romance novel covers he had done, particularly those that featured burly Fabio-esque leading men. “What do you do?” Steve asked again, trying to change the subject.

“I’m just a mechanic. Couldn’t really do much else after I was hurt, and working on cars helped improve my ‘fine motor skills’, as my doctors said.” Bucky glanced away, obviously feeling self-conscious about his own admission.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything, Bucky,” Steve said, responding to Bucky’s tone rather than the statement itself. “And I hope you’re feeling better. Let me know if you ever want to talk about your injury… or anything.” There seemed to be something on the set that encouraged serious conversations.

“Maybe someday. Not now though.” Bucky glanced around again. 

Steve noticed that things had stilled in the room as they had talked, indicating that they were about to start filming. He opened his mouth to say something else when Natasha shushed him, “Just look like you’re talking. It’ll mess up the audio if you actually talk.” She ducked away gracefully to stand by a camera woman, “All ready. And action.”

Steve tried to mime talking with Bucky, who kept making increasingly grotesque faces at him. Steve cracked when Bucky nodded seriously at him with his eyes crossed. He stifled a barking laugh when he saw Clint stiffly walk up to the end table.

“Oh look! A letter. Must be the first date card from Peggy,” Clint announced flatly, his pupils bouncing from side to side. The rest of the men pivoted toward him as Clint opened the envelope. Clint breathed in, “Sam,” he paused,” Let’s see if you’re just full of hot air.”

The men mumbled to themselves, trying to decrypt the enigmatic message. Steve frowned a little, disappointed that he wasn’t invited on the first date with Peggy. But he supposed since he got the first impression rose, someone else should get an opportunity to get to know her, and Sam was a deserving candidate.

Natasha stepped back in the middle of the room, “Okay, we’re all done here. Sam, get ready for your date. A long-sleeved shirt and sweater with jeans should do. Also hand off a suit to Darcy for later.”

Sam nodded and rushed upstairs, looking eager.

Buck turned back to Steve and asked, “So what do you want to do today?” Before Steve could respond, Bucky said, “How about we go for a swim? We never get to swim this time of year in New York, so may as well take advantage, right?” Bucky waggled his eyebrows.

“Sure, why not,” Steve figured he’d be able to fit in the second half of his workout as a swim anyway.

They walked up to their room together in companionable silence. Steve couldn’t explain why he already felt so comfortable with a man he met a little over 24 hours ago. As they entered their bedroom, Steve’s sense of comfort immediately shattered. He’d have to change in front of Bucky, or be shirtless in front of him, bare minimum. To avoid the former, Steve retrieved his bathing suit and excused himself to the bathroom to change.

He pulled on his swim trucks, and looked at himself in the mirror for a few seconds, psyching himself up for reentering the bedroom. His suit reached his mid-thigh and he chose to not bother to wear a shirt, revealing his well-formed pectoral and abdominal muscles, the results of years of concerted effort and what he considered a medical miracle. With a final, committed sigh he knocked timidly at the bathroom door to ensure that Bucky was ready for him to come back into the bedroom.

“Come in,” Bucky called in a sing-song voice.

Steve opened the door, relieved, until Bucky deadpanned as he moved toward the hallway, “Seriously? We’re not in high school.” Steve caught a glimpse of Bucky’s solid back muscles and something on his left arm as he walked out of the room. He followed him down to the pool a few seconds later, taking those precious moments to collect his wits and remind himself that he was here to date Peggy, not another contestant, and definitely not a hot, sarcastic, ex-military, mechanic named Bucky.

Steve stepped out on the pool deck just as Bucky was cannonballing in, whooping with youthful laughter. His breath was momentarily taken away by both the wave of heat that hit him when he stepped outside and the joy that Bucky exuded. 

Bucky resurfaced and waved at Steve, “Come on in! The water’s fine.” He began to backstroke across the pool lazily.

It was then that Steve realized that one of Bucky’s arms was made of metal from the shoulder down. That explained why he had so much trouble getting through airport security. Steve blamed Bucky’s hypnotic eyes for distracting him to the point that it took this long to notice he had a metal arm. Plus he had worn long-sleeve shirts for the whole 24 hours that he had known him. Almost more importantly, Steve noticed Bucky’s well-cut abs and deep V jutting a hard angle from his hips as he slowly paddled around the pool on his back. Bucky’s eyes were closed and his face was alight with bliss.

Steve jumped into the pool, the cool water diverting his attention from Bucky to his own shock. He resurfaced with a gasp, taking a deep breath, reminding himself that he was in control and able to breathe freely. Ever since crashing that plane, it was a struggle to submerge himself in water without panicking. But he forced himself to do so anyway, to face his fears and push through the anxiety. Regardless of how many times he swam and submerged his head, it never got any easier. But he had learned to live with it.

“Are you okay?” Steve heard Bucky say off to the side, as he shook his head to rid himself of the errant water droplets coursing down his face.

Steve intentionally slowed his breathing to a more even pace and responded, “Yeah, I’m fine.” He wiped his face once more and then turned to begin a slow lap of the pool, adjusting to how the water affected his nervous system. Just before he reached the edge, he was bombarded by a wave of water. He stood up sputtering, heart beating rapidly and his lungs struggling to keep up.

Bucky laughed from a few feet away, “Got ya!”

“Yeah, you got me,” Steve said, still breathing heavily, reminding himself of where he was. 

Bucky frowned when Steve did not bother to retaliate, but he didn’t push. Instead, Bucky laid back again, allowing the overly-chlorinated pool to lift his torso, and lazily backstroked to where Steve still stood. Bucky’s left metal hand grazed down Steve’s chest during his languid promenade, leaving a cold trail in its wake. Steve watched it curiously, hoping to get a closer look, but Bucky stiffened when his hand reached Steve’s hip and he snatched it back. Bucky quickly muttered, “Sorry. Didn’t see ya there,” and stood in the water again.

Steve couldn’t help but trail his gaze down Bucky’s chest, mirroring how Bucky’s hand had touched his own. A light dusting of dark hair led from Bucky’s pecs that thickened as it dipped into the waistband of his swim trunks. Steve suddenly realized that he was staring at Bucky’s lower abdominals and he cleared his throat, his eyes darting up to Bucky’s face once more. Bucky’s eyes met his after a beat, seeming to move up from Steve’s chest.

“I think I’m going to swim a few laps,” Steve said and then leapt forward and began freestroking across the pool, not waiting for Bucky’s response. When Steve completed the lap and turned smoothly into the next, Steve opened his eyes underwater to see that Bucky’s legs were no longer in sight. He must have gotten out of the pool. With each progressive lap, Steve was able to clear his mind until he was solely focused on his breathing pattern and counting his strokes. After half an hour, he estimated he had done enough to make up for cutting his run short earlier. He reached the edge of the pool, stood, and rested his crossed arms on the pool deck. 

Bucky lounged on a deck chair directly across from him, his eyes closed, basking in the warm sun. Steve found himself ogling Bucky again, this time directing his attention to his left arm, resting on his stomach. The silver metal gleamed sharply in the sunlight, the angular, almost honeycomb-like plates shifting slightly as Bucky breathed in and out. The sheen of the arm was only interrupted by a bright red five-pointed star on the upper bicep. Where the prosthetic met Bucky’s shoulder, angry purple scars radiated out as far as his neck.

Steve allowed himself to examine Bucky’s arm for longer than he cared to admit, feeling a little guilty for doing so as Bucky rested. He only stopped because he noticed a camerawoman in his periphery, so he lifted himself out of the pool. The camera undoubtedly caught the water coursing down his chest and his swimsuit clinging to him. Steve had a bad feeling that the clip would end up in the final cut of the show (and probably in slow motion).  
__

Steve spent the rest of the day napping and reading a book he had brought with him. As the sun set, all of the men (minus Sam, who was still on his date with Peggy) were brought into the main room. Natasha again moved them into position to receive the next date card, which Bucky would be reading. 

At her command, Bucky picked up the envelope from the coffee table and said overly-dramatically, “Look guys! A date card!” He then ripped open the envelope and read aloud, “Brock, Clint, Steve, and – oh my gosh – me!” Bucky brought his hand to his chest, feigning excitement better than any beauty pageant contestant. “Sometimes, you just have to take a shot.” The cryptic message confused Bucky enough that he did not overreact, rather he frowned at the card, flipping it over to ensure that there were no further instructions on the back.

Steve’s elation was tempered by the indiscernible message as well.

“Drinking contest,” Brock growled, as if it were the obvious solution, “I’m going to wipe the floor with you guys.”

Clint scoffed, “Or an archery competition, in which I will crush you on the floor.” Clint’s eyes widened, realizing how this sounded, “Er - I mean, I will crush you.”

Neither Bucky nor Steve weighed in, glancing each at other with a shrug.

Natasha stepped in once more, “Great. That’s a wrap. You guys will be leaving at 8am tomorrow. Wear athletic gear for the first part of the date, preferably light colors. You’ll change into suits for the second part. Give your suits and anything else you’ll need to dapper up to Darcy. That’s it.” Natasha walked away, not waiting for any questions.  
__

Steve sat in the back of a limo with Clint, Brock, Bucky, and Darcy, which felt odd considering their athletic attire. The men had spent the first ten minutes of the ride trying to interrogate Darcy and extract the details of their group date. Darcy had only said, “Nope,” and flipped them the bird repeatedly, obviously taking glee from her position of power over them. When the limo stopped at their destination, Darcy stopped them from piling out as she listened to her headset. After a minute, she ushered them out the door.

Steve was momentarily blinded by the transition from the dark interior of the limo to the morning light. He blinked a few times, clearing the stars, until he was able to see Peggy standing about ten feet away. Cameramen lined the path toward her, ready to record their entrance.

Steve took his place in the line of men next to Clint, and then looked back at Peggy to fully process. She wore a loose white tank top, black ankle-length leggings, and bright blue sneakers, her hair pulled back into a perfect ponytail. She stood directly under a sign emblazed with “Xtreme Paintball”. Realization hit Steve like a paintball to the chest; they would be playing paintball as their date. How this would give him an opportunity to get to know Peggy better, he didn’t know, but he would play along anyway.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Peggy said with a bright smile, “And thank you in advance for putting up with my antics. As you have probably surmised, we will be playing paintball for our first group date. This will not be team-based, rather we will play every man for himself, as in the fight for love,” she said, the pun probably pre-written and well-practiced. “Whoever has the least paint on him by the end of the game will get an extra twenty minutes of one-on-one time with me at our luncheon later.”

Steve looked at the other men, reading their reactions to the posed competition. Clint and Bucky seemed resolute in a friendly way. Brock scowled and bared his teeth at Steve, a personal challenge implicit in his body language.

“If you want a shot at my love, you had better fight for keeps,” Peggy said, barely resisting grimacing from the line she had been fed. 

Clint groaned and rolled his eyes, expressing what Steve had held back.  
__

The paintball arena was the size of a football field. Abandoned cars, stacks of tires, and the outer walls of buildings were scattered throughout, each splashed with a rainbow of paint splatter, proving they were optimal for creating cover. 

Steve held his paintball gun aloft in a familiar grip despite the anomalous size and weight distribution compared to the weapons he had wielded while in the Army. He crouched behind a wall, slightly off balance from the bag strapped across his chest containing spare pellets and paint grenades. He peeked out to survey his surroundings. A paintball whizzed past his ear, its tailwind blowing a few strands of his golden hair out of place. The cameraman behind Steve quietly grunted as the paintball hit him in the chest. Steve retracted and considered his next tactic for a moment. He easily fell back into the structured mindset of warfare.

Steve took a breath to temper the surge of adrenaline in his system. He then darted across the open doorway, leaving his cameraman behind, to take cover behind another wall. Whoever was shooting at him did not pull the trigger until he was out of harm’s way, their paintballs hitting the ply board wall with a dull thunk. Steve got into position, his paintball gun resting on his clavicle as his index finger lightly rested on the trigger, ready to squeeze. He flexed his abs to shift his center of gravity and lean into the doorway. He spotted Brock standing out in the open immediately, and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. 

As the three deep blue stains seeped into Brock’s white shirt, he loosed an anguished cry and charged forward toward Steve. Steve sprinted through the façade of the building trying to evade the sounds of Brock’s heavy breathing and grunting. Within a few seconds, Steve realized the structure’s only exit was the doorway he had left behind. He spotted a large opening a few feet above the ground, a prototypical window, and dove through it without a second thought. He landed on the ground with a somersault to break his fall, and was immediately on his feet again, running to shield himself behind a stack of tires. He poked his head out from the tires and was relieved to see that Brock had not made it out of the building yet. He slowed his breathing and looked forward again, until his breath hitched when he saw someone behind the adjacent stack of tires. 

Bucky held his gun up with his finger resting on the trigger guard, meeting Steve’s intense gaze. With a smirk, Bucky swiftly brought his gun down into position, his position indicating he was a practiced marksman. Steve mirrored Bucky’s movements, only a moment behind. Before either were able to pull the trigger, the elastic sound of a balloon popping and resulting splash shocked them into inaction. Red paint drenched the entirety of Bucky’s left side.

Bucky’s eyes widened and he paled as he looked down at the viscous red liquid dripping from the ends of his metal fingers. He fell to his knees, still staring at the paint on his arm, and his gun dropped to the ground with a clatter.

Steve was certain that Bucky’s bewilderment had nothing to do with his decreased chance of spending twenty extra minutes with Peggy. Without concern for his own spotless clothing, Steve ran to close the distance between him and Bucky. He skidded to a halt on his knees next to Bucky.

“Buck, you okay?” Steve said softly, tilting his head to try to look into Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky said nothing. His gaze was still locked on his arm. He began to tremble and his breath quickened.

Steve knew what a panic attack looked like, having experienced more than his fair share. He tried to ground Bucky, “Buck, you’re okay. You’re safe. That’s just red paint on your arm. You’re at a paintball course in LA.”

Bucky continued to shake and fell back to sit on the ground, his knees pulled up in front of him, cradling his arms. The paint on his arm mixed with that on the left side of his shorts, soaking into the fabric. Bucky’s head fell forward into his hands.

Steve moved forward to put his hand gently on Bucky’s left shoulder. He was really starting to worry about Bucky and wished that Sam were here to step in, given his counselling experience. Steve didn’t dare wave down one of the production staff for help on the off chance they would exploit Bucky and film his crisis. So he forged ahead not knowing quite what he was doing, “Bucky, you’re in Los Angeles, California. You’re on a group date for The Bachelorette and we’re playing paintball. Someone threw a paint grenade with you, which is why you’re covered in red. I’m Steve, that punk from Brooklyn you’re competing with. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

Steve felt Bucky’s shoulders tense slightly less.

“Bucky, can you tell me where you are?” Steve asked gently to confirm that he was aware of his surroundings.

Bucky lifted his head from his hands. Red marred the left side of his face. The paint matted down the dark hair at Bucky’s forehead and temple. The overall image was gruesome without the context of paintball. 

Steve gulped, pushing down his own violent memories.

“I’m in LA,” Bucky whispered, voice devoid of its usual jaunty tone.

“That’s right. And what are you doing in LA?” 

“I’m on a TV show -,” Bucky said, but Steve tuned him out when his attention was diverted by an approaching cameraman trying to swoop in and document the scene.

With his hand still on Bucky’s shoulder, Steve glared directly at the camera and said with perfect diction, “Motherfucking asshat dickbag douchecanoe goddamn twat son of a bitch,” he took a deep breath and then continued letting loose an unending string of profanity.

Bucky emitted a shaky, confused laugh and croaked, “Language.”

Steve continued his tirade until the cameraman walked away with a frustrated mutter. He redirected his gaze to Bucky who shook a little less but seemed more present than before, though he was pointedly avoiding looking at his left side. “Sorry, I forgot what I asked before. Where are you?” Steve asked, trying to smoothly transition back to supporting Bucky.

“I’m in LA on a TV show and you, Steve, just cursed like a sailor at the camera. Why?” Bucky asked. He still spoke quietly but his voice conveyed more strength than a few minutes earlier. 

Steve sighed. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “I love The Great British Baking Show.”

Bucky barked a laugh. Color was slowly returning to his face. “So? What does that have to do with your profane outburst?”

“Whenever a contestant on the show got frustrated and started to cry or panic, the hosts would stand in front of them and curse at the camera so they couldn’t use the footage. I figured you may want to keep this moment private.” Steve was struck by a thought he had not previously considered and grimaced, “Hopefully this show works the way The Great British Baking Show does or I’m going to look like a real asshole on national television.”

“Jesus. I’m glad you thought of that.” Bucky slowly unfolded his legs, and then looked up again at Steve. His grey eyes held Steve’s blue ones captive. “Thank you,” Bucky sighed, voice heavy with emotion.

Steve felt a lump in his throat and didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded.

They remained there in that moment hovering just inches apart, lost deep in each other’s eyes. An indescribable tension was thick in the air, causing any words Steve hoped to say to stick in his throat. Steve was unsure if this tension was due to Bucky’s panic attack and resulting emotional turmoil... or something else.

The moment was broken by an air horn indicating that their paintball bout was over.

Bucky tore his eyes from Steve’s and moved to stand, stretching as he did. He still kept his face directed to the right, not daring to glance at his left side lest it send him spiraling down again. He began trudging toward the main building for judging, when he turned and called back, “Don’t think I’m not going to drag you later for watching a baking show.” Bucky gave Steve a lopsided grin and continued his walk.

“Fucking jerk,” Steve said just loud enough for Bucky to hear, and then jogged to catch up.  
__

The men stood at parade rest as Peggy walked down the line in her now paint-spotted clothing. Steve glaced at the other men, assessing the damage. Brock’s shirt was marred by the three shots Steve had landed plus a few others. Clint looked like he had been completely doused in paint. Bucky was still covered in red paint on this left side.

Steve won the game, his clothing still immaculate despite spending most of the activity far from cover helping Bucky. This earned him a warm look from Peggy. Steve tried to be excited about his upcoming alone time with the bachelorette, but in the back of his mind he was still worried about Bucky.

They were dismissed, and the men were told to wash up in the locker room and dress in the suits Darcy had delivered there. As they collected towels from Darcy, Steve noticed Bucky pale slightly while grasping the towel with his left hand.

Steve stopped Bucky with a soft touch of his hand on Bucky’s back as they entered the locker room. “I don’t want to sound weird, but do you want me to wipe down your arm for you before you hop in the shower?” Steve said quietly in Bucky’s ear, hoping no one else could hear.

A smile flickered across Bucky’s face. “I don’t want to sound weird, but yes. Please. Thank you.”

Steve’s stomach swooped.

Bucky settled on a bench next to a wall of lockers as Steve found a sink and dampened a spare towel with warm water. He returned and straddled the bench on Bucky’s left side.

“Ready?” he asked, seeking Bucky’s permission to touch his prosthetic.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, resolutely staring at the locker in front of him.

Steve wrapped his hand around Bucky’s wrist so he could hold the arm steady and angle it as he wiped it with the towel. He began with broad strokes, admiring the construction and design of Bucky’s prosthetic. The red paint streaked across the metal, blending with the star at the apex of Bucky’s bicep.

“Can you feel?” Steve asked impulsively as he worked, his curiosity getting the best of him. “I mean, your arm looks really high-tech, like maybe it could transmit sensations.”

“Just pressure and extreme temperatures,” Bucky responded with a sigh. “I know I should be grateful, but sometimes I wish…,” he trailed off.

“What do you wish?” Steve prompted. The surface of the shoulder and upper arm were gleaming once more, so he moved down to Bucky’s forearm.

“I wish I had my arm back. So I could really feel. I miss being able to touch. This arm makes me feel like there’s a wall between me and the world. But I know the tech is amazing, state-of-the-art, so I shouldn’t complain. It could be so much worse,” Bucky grimaced as he stared at the lockers in front of him.

Bucky’s vulnerability took Steve’s breath away, “It could be. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a right to be unhappy or complain.” He moved his ministrations down again to wipe Bucky’s wrist and palm with the now-pink towel. 

Bucky fiddled with the fingernails on his right hand and whispered, “Thanks.”

Steve finally held Bucky’s hand in his own, gently stroking his thumb with the towel, ensuring that he cleaned between the small metal plates. He was fully immersed in his task as he moved to the next finger and the next. Steve gently rubbed each finger in small circles from base to tip, taking the time and care that he sensed Bucky was rarely treated too. Perhaps his methods were also a selfish excuse to touch Bucky. Steve was a little disappointed when he swiped away the last of the paint on Bucky’s pinky. He looked over the entire arm once more to ensure all of the paint was gone. 

With this confirmed, Steve glanced up at Bucky once again to say as much, and found himself looking directly in Bucky’s eyes, as silver as the metal of his arm. Bucky exhaled and retracted his arm from Steve’s loose grip.

“Thank you,” Bucky muttered, then stood and walked briskly to the showers.

Steve was left straddling the bench, watching Bucky’s retreating form. His fingers tingled.  
__

Steve wrinkled his nose as he admired the LA skyline, shining in the sun but slightly blurred by the midday haze. He leaned against the glass railing of the rooftop bar and thought fondly of the familiar New York buildings. It had been less than two days and he was already missing the grey-toned architecture and people of his city. The bright colors that made up Southern California felt artificial and aggressive to him.

Steve turned with a sigh to face a crescent of nylon-upholstered couches where the rest of the men lounged, clad in the suits they had changed into after the paintball outing. Bucky and Clint were talking casually, relaxing in the sunlight as they waited for Peggy’s arrival. Brock perched at the end of the couch cushion, his feet planted firmly at a wide angle. He picked at his nails, jaw tense and his teeth grinding.

Several camera people suddenly appeared. Steve assumed this meant that Peggy was about to arrive. “Hey, guys,” Steve alerted the men on the couch and jutted his chin toward the door as he buttoned his jacket.

The men stood at attention as Peggy entered the roofdeck. She had changed from her paint-splattered workout gear into a deep blue, figure-hugging dress. The neckline dipped to reveal an expanse of pale cleavage. 

“Hello, my dates,” Peggy greeted them, “Thank you for playing along with my game earlier. I thought we all deserved a change of pace so we can relax and have lunch with a view.”

Immediately following this statement, a fleet of waiters brought platters piled with finger foods and placed it on the large, low table next to the couch. This job complete, all but one left in a neat line. The remaining waiter asked them each for drink orders. Steve asked for seltzer with lime, so he could pass it as a gin and tonic. This was far too early for him to start drinking, in his opinion, but he didn’t want to appear as if he wasn’t enjoying himself.

When their drinks arrived a minute later, the group formed a circle around the table. Steve ended up standing next to Peggy. The hair on his forearms stood to attention as her arm brushed against his. Peggy proposed a toast, “To getting a shot at love.” Steve noticed she gritted her teeth, but the flicker of tension was so subtle that he was the only one who could see it. The others and the cameras would read this as a smile.

The men were obliged to laugh at the awful pun as the five glasses clinked and they each took a sip of their drinks.

This ritual complete, Peggy reached next to her to grasp Steve’s hand. He was caught off guard and nearly spilled his drink onto the prepared lunch in front of him, but he managed to regain control over his glass before the disaster occurred.

“Steve, since you won the paintball excursion, you get to claim your prize of an extra twenty minutes with me. Shall we?” The gold flecks in her brown eyes glinted and she smiled slyly as she tugged at his hand, indicating he should follow her. Without waiting for Steve’s response, Peggy led him to the side of the deck and around a corner. Apparently, the deck wrapped around the entire building. She wound them around yet another corner so they now stood on the side opposite to the rest of the men, giving them the semblance of privacy (if you did not consider that they were being followed by three cameras).

There was a similar setup of couches around a table, but all of the furniture was dusted with rose petals and there was a dangerous number of candles of varying sizes on the table. The wax dripped down their sides, cooling and solidifying on the glass tabletop. Peggy elegantly perched on a couch. Steve sat next to her, giving her a foot of space to ensure her comfort. Peggy was apparently unhappy with this distance, and she moved a few inches so their knees bumped together.

Steve was suddenly hit with a wave of anxiety that fully occupied his mind, pushing coherent conversation topics into unreachable corners. He gave Peggy an uneasy, closed-mouth smile, his eyebrows scrunching in and wrinkling the bridge of his nose.

Peggy broke the awkward silence, refusing to allow Steve’s unease to ruffle her calm exterior, “Did you enjoy paintball? I was very impressed that you emerged unscathed.”

An image of Bucky curled up on the ground, half covered in red paint flashed through Steve’s mind before he stuttered, “Yeah, uh, yeah it was cool. I’ve never been to a course like that before. Actually, now that I think of it, I didn’t see you at all during the game. Where were you hiding?”

“A lady never tells,” Peggy said with a wink, “I actually have a fair amount of tactical strategy training from my job. I’m just a civilian contractor but I’ve learned a thing or two from my enlisted colleagues. I can hold my own in combat scenarios.”

Steve’s admiration for Peggy grew. “I can believe that. I hope you never have a reason to beat me up,” he said without an iota of sarcasm.

“I certainly hope not. Though now I’m curious: have you ever been beaten up before?”

Steve laughed, “Yes. Often.”

Peggy scoffed in disbelief, and her hand found its way to Steve’s knee. “Who would want to punch that pretty face?” she teased, her thumb flicking back and forth on his thigh.

He did not like talking about his childhood, still a little sensitive about his skeletal figure and proclivity for illness. But he figured he should make the most of his brief time with Peggy and share everything he could with her. “No less than a dozen bullies from kindergarten through high school. I was a skinny, sick kid but I never knew when to back down from a fight,” Steve admitted.

“I find that hard to believe,” Peggy’s eyes swept from his face to his bicep, visibly bulging even from underneath his shirt and blazer.

“No, really. I didn’t hit my growth spurt until I was seventeen, and then I joined the Army and bulked up. I finally had the muscle to back up my big mouth,” Steve said. He slowly placed his hand on top of Peggy’s, still resting on his knee, trying to give her time to pull away if she wanted. He was relieved when her hand remained securely in place.

“Your big mouth?” Peggy probed.

“Yeah, whenever I saw one of those guys picking on someone, I had to step in,” Steve said, “I hate people who think they can push other people around.”

Peggy turned her hand around to weave her fingers through Steve’s, “I’m morbidly curious about this. Tell me more about youthful shenanigans.”

Steve confidently held Peggy’s hand and moved his thumb in small circles across her knuckles. He took a deep breath and delved into one of his more violent, but still amusing encounters.

They spent the remainder of their time together trading stories about their youth. Steve shared a tale about how he came across a bully kicking an abandoned puppy. He managed to save it, but not without earning himself a few kicks from the other boy that broke several of his ribs. 

Peggy told Steve about her upbringing in England and the all-girls preparatory school she attended. She once had broken into the headmistress’s apartment and had stolen her best bottle of brandy. She was discovered and sentenced to months of detention, but it made her a hero to all of her classmates nonetheless.

Before they knew it, Natasha was waving at them from behind the cameras as a sign that they needed to wrap things up so another one of the contestants could meet with Peggy. The couple reluctantly stood, hands still entangled. Steve gazed down at Peggy, affection for her welling up from the depth of his being.

“I’m glad I’m here. With you,” Steve said quietly. His eyes flicked down to her red lips and then returned to her shining brown eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Steve,” Peggy responded under her breath.

Steve thought about kissing Peggy. Though he liked her and this was technically their second date, he also thought that it would be disrespectful of him to make this move while on a group date. He would feel awkward returning to spend time with the other men if he knew he had been kissing the woman they were all trying to woo just minutes before. Instead, Steve pulled her into a hug, ever aware of her body language so he could pull away if she seemed uncomfortable. Peggy held him tightly, her arms wound under his and around his back, almost unable to fully reach around his muscular torso. She felt small and delicate in his embrace, though Steve knew better than to think of Peggy as delicate. They finally parted, both beaming at each other.

“I’ll see you later,” Steve said.

“Yes. Later,” Peggy replied, gazing into his bright blue eyes.

Steve backed away a few steps, and then spun around to walk to the other side of the deck. Angie bustled past him with powder and brush at the ready for Peggy.

“Sorry, Angie,” he called after her with glee.

Angie slowed and turned back to say, “Oh, Steve, just you wait. If you are granted the opportunity to kiss the amazing Peggy Carter, and you wipe off half of her makeup with your stubble, you will feel my wrath.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Steve said, preemptively guilty. He continued his walk back to where the rest of the men were picking at the small bites laid out for them, a cameraman and Natasha on his heels.

When the other men were back in sight, Natasha waggled her finger at Brock to come back with her to have his time with Peggy. Brock downed the remainder of his drink in one go and then swaggered over to where Natasha waited. As Steve passed him on his way to the lunch spread, Brock weaved and bumped into Steve, knocking him backwards a few inches. Brock sneered and grunted, not allowing the minor collision to impede his pathway to Natasha and onward to Peggy. Steve nearly swiveled to confront Brock about his behavior, but a camerawoman entered his field of vision, reminding him of where he was. He took a deep breath to calm himself, closing his eyes briefly and counting to ten like his mother taught him after he returned home one day with his fifth black eye in as many months.

When he reopened his eyes, Steve immediately saw Bucky looking at him curiously. Steve shrugged. 

Steve spent the rest of the afternoon on the couches, chatting contentedly with Bucky and Clint (and pointedly avoiding Brock when he returned). The men cycled out every fifteen minutes or so, less than half of the time Steve had gotten with Peggy. Steve couldn’t help but notice each of them returning from their one-on-one time with smiles on their faces. He found himself examining the minutia of Bucky’s expression when he returned. Bucky wore a small, lopsided grin, his eyes downturned toward the floor in front of him. One of his hands was in his pocket and the top button of his shirt was undone. Steve felt a tug of jealousy that he tried to ignore. But he wasn’t sure if he was jealous of Peggy or Bucky.  
__

The sun was starting to set when the four men returned to the house. Steve was exhausted from the long day of posturing for the cameras and emotional turmoil. He flopped down on the couch and draped an arm over his eyes, not caring if he wrinkled his suit. He sighed in an effort to release the tightness in his shoulders and neck.

Sam sat near Steve’s head reading a book with glasses perched on the end of his nose. Steve heard the pages rifle closed and the soft click of glasses being folded up. “I missed my running buddy this morning. Actually, I take that back. I didn’t miss the breakneck pace you set. I got to go nice and slow this morning,” Sam said, “How was your group date?”

Steve lifted his arm from his face to look at Sam upside-down. “It was good. We went paintballing and then had lunch at a rooftop bar downtown,” he glazed over the details of the day. Steve resolved to not tell anyone about Bucky’s panic attack. He didn’t want to betray Bucky’s trust.

The couch cushions near Steve’s feet dipped as Bucky threw himself down with a loud exhale. “Steve is being modest. He won paintball and got extra time with Peggy. He came back smiling like a loon,” Bucky said, his lips pressed together into a flat line that could almost be considered a smile.

“Good for you, Steve! How was the date for you, Bucky?” Sam probed with a nudge to Steve’s shoulder.

“It was fine. Peggy’s a great gal. Hope she wants me to stick around,” Bucky said with a neutral expression, revealing as little as Steve had.

Steve couldn’t help but wonder what Bucky and Peggy had talked about during their one-on-one time. Had she held his hand? Did they kiss? Steve distracted himself from the mental images conjured of Bucky and Peggy embracing in a more-then-friendly manner by asking Sam, “How was your date with Peggy? Did you spend the whole day with her?”

“Yeah!” Sam said enthusiastically, his posture straightening as he delved into the details of the date, “We went on a hot air balloon ride, so it almost felt like we were really alone, if you didn’t think about the pilot. And the cameraman,” Sam’s lips downturned slightly, “Okay, so it wasn’t as intimate as a real world first date, but it was pretty good for a reality show date. Then we went out for a nice dinner and talked more. She really is amazing.” Sam’s frown dissolved into a small grin.

Though Steve was disappointed he hadn’t gotten to spend a whole day with the woman he (and nine other men) was dating, he was still thankful that he got the time he had during their group date. From their limited interactions, he thought he had the potential to fall in love with Peggy.

The authoritative clacking of heeled boots entering the room made the three of them turn to face Natasha. She held up a white envelope in between her pointer and middle fingers. Steve thought if she just flicked her wrist, that would send it flying and it would undoubtedly bury itself in the wall.

“Date card time, gentlemen. I need you in the kitchen.”

Steve, Bucky, and Sam followed her lead and were once again arranged to her liking with the other men. They were staged as if they were eating dinner and T’Challa saw the envelope in the fruit bowl.

“Thor, Rhodey, Scott, myself, and Tony,” T’Challa read out the addressees, “Let’s go for a spin.” There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm or dramatism in his voice as Clint and Bucky had performed earlier. 

The men who had been called started throwing out suggestions for what the message could mean.

“County fair? Like one of those awful spinning rides?” Scott proposed.

“Strip club. I wouldn’t mind a spin around a pole,” Tony said with a salacious intonation. 

“Hammer throw?” Thor said with a confident nod.

Bucky leaned over to whisper in Steve’s ear, “It’s definitely dancing.”

The hair on the back of Steve’s neck lifted as Bucky’s breath brushed across it, sending a thrill down Steve’s spine. He turned to meet Bucky’s eyes, only inches from his own. “You’re probably right,” he murmured. 

They held eye contact for a second longer than most would deem acceptable. Steve glanced down and ran a hand through his hair.  
__

The ten men in suits were lined up on the risers in the rose ceremony room, the same place they had been a week earlier, but two fewer in number. Peggy stood at the front of the room, a dias next to her with only eight red roses. She had informed them at the start of the evening that two more men would be sent home tonight. 

Stressful energy crackled through the air. Steve shifted his weight from one side to the other, the riser creaking beneath his feet.

“Sam,” Peggy said first. 

Steve saw Sam smile brilliantly as he made his way to Peggy. He accepted the rose when prompted. Steve felt the muscles in his shoulders tense; he tried to counteract this by pushing them down and standing straighter. 

Sam returned to his place in the lineup, and Peggy waited a few, pregnant seconds before announcing the next name.

“Steve.”

Steve released a puff of air that came out as a chuckle and he couldn’t help but smile as he walked to where Peggy stood

“Will you accept this rose?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” he replied immediately after the last word left her lips. Steve did not want to worry Peggy as he had last week, when he had hesitated from surprise. 

Peggy smiled and pinned the boutonniere to his jacket and then sent him back to his spot. 

Steve felt the world rush by, still thrilling from having made it to the next week and next date with Peggy. Thor, T’Challa, Bucky, Tony, Clint, and Brock were all called as Steve was in his haze. He only felt the rushing paused when Bucky’s name was said, his stomach fluttering. Steve tried to tell himself this was because Bucky was his closest friend on the set, not because he was harboring one of the biggest crushes of his life.

Steve was torn from his whirl of thoughts when Peggy said, “Scott and Rhodey, I’m sorry. This means that you must leave now. It was a pleasure 

Both men appeared dejected, but not completely crushed. Steve said his goodbyes, both sad to see Rhodey and Scott go (in spite of their pervasive use of engineering jargon) and glad that there were now fewer contestants.

And so, there were eight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are enjoying the story! Just a note - my next chapter may be a few days late (but I'm trying my best to get ahead this weekend).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where smut begins! It's right at the beginning of the chapter, and I've place a divider of asterisks after the scene. In case you want to skip it, I've put a summary of the scene in the chapter endnotes.

The room was pitch black. Steve rolled over groggily, clutching a pillow to his chest, trying to ignore the pounding of blood rushing to his crotch. He tried to will himself back to sleep for a few more precious minutes before he had to get up for his morning run, but the insistent pressure in his briefs made his goal near-impossible. Steve hugged the pillow closer, naturally moving his hips to press himself against the pillow. The pressure both relieved his desire for touch and made him want even more. He pushed himself harder against it, the friction between the skin of his stomach, his briefs, and the pillow creating a delicious sensation. A low moan erupted from the back of his throat as he moved his hips in small circles. Steve heard a soft exhale of breath from across the room.

Steve’s eyes flew open and his hips stuttered to a halt as reality came crashing down on him. He was not at his home in Brooklyn where he lived alone. Rather, he was in LA on a dating reality show and sharing a room with a gorgeous man that he could not have. Steve’s realization that Bucky was a mere ten feet away did not have the desired effect. Though he hoped that his dick would be subdued from the thought that Bucky was in the room, instead it insistently pressed against the elastic of his waistband, stiffening even further. Steve’s hips automatically rolled against the pillow again, the friction meeting his id’s needs for those brief, thrilling seconds. He felt another moan threatening to well up from his throat but somehow managed to silence it.

The sounds of sheets shifting and another deep sigh from Bucky’s bed finally catalyzed Steve to take action. He sat up slowly, making as little noise as possible, and tip-toed to their shared bathroom. He shut the door before flicking the light switch, so any residual rays did not reach Bucky. 

Steve turned on the shower, sitting on the edge of the tub as he waited for the water to heat up. He looked down at his briefs, tented slightly by his thick erection struggling to spring forward. The tip peeked out from the top of the waistband, pink and leaking. Steve impulsively swiped his thumb against the glans, smearing the milky white fluid around the tip of his dick. Steam from the shower rolled across his back. He stood, licking the precum from his thumb, and divested himself of his briefs in one swift movement. Steve stepped in the shower, reveling in the heat that encompassed his body. He savored the feeling of every drop of water that landed on and slid down his throbbing cock.

Leaning his head against the back of the shower and closing his eyes, Steve grasped his dick loosely in his hand and flicked his thumb against the sensitive glans. He tightened his grip and ran his fist slowly up and down the shaft, finally allowing himself to release a sigh he had held in. As he pumped his hand back and forth, his mind wandered back into the bedroom. 

Steve imagined walking into the room. Bucky was laying on his back but wide awake and watching him, eyes dark from his expanded pupils. “Steve,” Bucky would sigh as an invitation. Steve would slowly walk to the bed, never breaking eye contact with Bucky, and then straddle Bucky’s hips and his hands bracketing his head. Steve would bring his head down to hover just above Bucky’s, leaving only a scant centimeter between their lips. Bucky’s delicately curved lips shined and parted slightly, and he would push himself up on his elbows to close the distance between them. Bucky’s lips would perfectly fit with Steve’s, tasting sweet and warm. Bucky would open his mouth, slipping his tongue out to caress Steve’s bottom lip. 

As they kissed, Steve would grind his hips down so his thickening cock was pressed against Bucky’s already-engorged length. Bucky would pull back just to moan, “Take my boxers off,” and Steve would comply. He would kiss and lick and nibble his way down Bucky’s muscular chest until he reached the trail of dark hair at the edge of his boxers. With his hands on Bucky’s hips, he would slowly pull the waistband down to reveal another inch of precious skin that he would massage with his tongue. Steve would continue this pattern until Bucky’s dick was finally fully unveiled. His dick would be thick and Steve would ache for Bucky to fill him. Steve would press gentle kisses to the soft skin of Bucky’s pelvic bone, circling inward until he finally took Bucky into his mouth.

Steve came with a groan, ejaculate erupting from him only to be swept down the drain. He pumped his hand, extending his pleasure as long as he could, still imagining the experience of sucking Bucky’s cock. With a final shudder, Steve let go of his dick and moved forward to let the water stream down his body. He stood there for a minute, hit by a sudden wave of guilt because he had just masturbated to the thought of someone he was not here to fall in love with (not to mention his roommate). 

********************************************************************************************************************************************

Steve turned off the shower, dried off, and wrapped the towel around his hips. He crept back into the bedroom to grab his running clothes. There were no sounds or movements from Bucky’s bed. Steve changed in the bathroom and then snuck downstairs to meet Sam for their run.

The gravity of what he had done and imagined in the shower was still weighing on his mind as he and Sam jogged down the road. Steve brooded until he was called out of his reverie when Sam cleared his throat.

“Are you okay, dude?” Sam asked with concern in his voice, “You’re pretty quiet today.”

“Yeah. I’m just tired,” Steve deflected.

“Are you sure?” When Steve didn’t respond, Sam said, “Being on this show is a weird, isolating experience and I want you to know that you can trust me. I am your friend. Plus, there are no cameras here. You can let loose and just vent. But you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

Steve slowed his pace, considering what Sam had said. He was indeed feeling like he was bottling up his feelings and he was about to boil over from the stress. Having made his decision, Steve abruptly stopped running. He examined the pavement at his feet as he heard Sam continue jogging for a few seconds until he turned around when realized he had lost Steve. 

Steve felt a hand on his shoulder. “Steve?” Sam asked.

“I’m bisexual,” Steve murmured, still looking at his feet. He immediately felt anxiety well up from his stomach.

Sam squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me, Steve.” 

Steve’s anxiety was quelled by Sam’s reassuring tone. He ventured a glance up. 

“This must be an uncomfortable place for you to be given the, uh,” Sam hesitated, searching for the right term, “‘heterosexual implications’,” he said with air quotes.

Steve snorted, “Yeah. I feel like I have to hide that part of myself. And...,” he trailed off thinking about the feelings he was developing for Bucky. His guilt from his early morning activities was still very present in the back of his mind. 

“And?” Sam prompted.

“And I’m really starting to like one of the guys. And I feel predatory even though it’s not intentional and I’m not going to make a move or anything. But I’m also guilty because I should be having these feelings for Peggy, and only Peggy. And don’t get me wrong, I like her and I can see myself falling in love with her, but I just,” Steve exhaled, running out of steam.

“That’s quite an outpouring of bisexual angst,” Sam joked lightly.

Steve couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah, you can say that again.”

Sam smiled deviously. “That’s quite an outpouring of bisexual angst.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Fucking asshole.”

“Whatever, man.” Sam hesitated before saying, “So you like one of the guys? It’s me, isn’t it? I know you can resist my hot bod.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Didn’t know you were so vain, Sam,” Steve waggled his eyebrows right back, “No, it’s not you.” Steve sighed before admitting, “It’s Bucky.”

Sam phased back to his serious counselor persona, “Yeah, I thought so. You guys seem pretty tight. Do you think he may like you back?”

“I don’t know. He’s probably straight. I mean, we are on a dating show to date a woman,” Steve said, exasperated.

“Yeah, but you’re here and you’re not straight. Who’s to say you’re the only bi guy in the group?” Sam pointed out.

“I guess,” Steve said. He still did not feel optimistic. “Anyway, I should be focusing on seeing Peggy. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“I thought we were here to find love. If that happens with another contestant, I’d still consider that a win,” Sam said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Steve suspected Sam was planning something. “Don’t play matchmaker, Sam,” he said flatly.

Sam began to jog again. “The thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he called back, sarcasm apparent in his tone.

“Sam,” Steve growled as he ran to catch up.  
__

Steve returned to the house feeling far better than he had when he and Sam had left an hour ago. Talking with Sam about his sexuality and crush on Bucky and alleviated much of the tension he was feeling. Being honest with someone and hearing Sam’s validation had been freeing.

When Steve and Sam walked in the front door, they reentered the chaotic living room. All of the men were there, Natasha telling them where to stand and pose for another date card delivery. When she heard the door open, Natasha turned and immediately directed Sam and Steve to stand in the corner of the room so their post-workout appearance didn’t ruin the shot. They complied, and everyone in the room hushed when Natasha told them to start rolling.

Thor opened the envelope and read, “Brock,” in his lilting accent.

Steve turned to Brock. He wore a victorious expression, and there was something below the surface that told Steve he had malicious intentions. Steve was so busy interpreting Brock’s body language and riling himself up thinking of Brock’s inevitable future bad behavior that he didn’t even hear the content of the date card message.

The filming ended and Brock bolted upstairs to change. He left for his one-on-one date a few minutes later.

At least Steve would have a day at the house without that asshole around.  
__

Steve was reclining on the couch and reading, a scant ten pages from the end of the novel he had begun that morning. The slam of the front door tore him from the refuge he had created in the protagonist’s tale. He startled, automatically looking at the entryway to see Brock stomping his way into the house, a few camera people scuttling behind him. Brock looked terrifyingly happy, which could only mean he was about to boast.

Steve tried to look immersed in his book so Brock would not try to talk to him and tell him about his day with Peggy. Steve knew it would drive him over the edge to hear how Brock had duped Peggy into keeping him on the show for another week. Unfortunately, Steve’s efforts were futile and Brock threw himself on a couch cushion a few feet from Steve with a self-satisfied grunt.

“I had such a great date with Peggy,” Brock rumbled toward Steve.

Steve pursed his lips and made a noncommittal sound, burying his nose further into his book but reading nothing.

“We took a painting class where she modeled for me,” Brock sneered, addressing Steve despite the obvious indications that he was uninterested in the conversation. “I could stare all I wanted at her ass and tits and I could tell she was getting off on it.”

Steve tensed, angered by Brock's inappropriate statement. “Stop,” Steve said through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to hear about this. It’s incredibly disrespectful to Peggy.”

Brock did not acknowledge Steve’s request. Instead he soldiered on with a lewd description, “Then we had dinner and went dancing. The slut pushed herself against me, I just know she was trying to drive me crazy.”

“Brock. Stop. Talking,” Steve said, a threat obvious in his tone.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she asked for ‘alone time’ before the rose ceremony this week,” Brock heavily emphasized the words to indicate he was referring to a salacious scenario. “Fuck, some of her dresses leave little to imagine, but I want to see her in all her glory while she’s got her mouth on my - .” 

Steve’s mind went blank but for the thought of Brock’s rude, disrespectful comments about Peggy. He snapped. 

Steve threw his book at Brock’s face, the hard spine hitting the bridge of his already-crooked nose with a satisfying smack. Before Brock had emitted a grunt of pain, Steve was up and grabbing the shoulders of his jacket to lift him from the couch. Brock easily twisted himself out of Steve’s hold and backed up a step. He lifted his fists and spread his feet into a natural boxing stance, reminding Steve that fighting was Brock’s profession. This did not worry Steve; this wasn’t the first time he was outmatched. Steve distanced his own feet and reoriented his center of gravity so he could stand his ground if Brock rushed at him. 

“You’re going to be sorry for that,” Brock spit.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Steve lied through his teeth, “I want you to show respect for Peggy. She is not your property, she is not a thing, she is a person who you don’t deserve to be in the same room with,” he finished this time truthfully.

“Yeah, well respect this.” Brock lashed forward, his fist sailing through the air, aimed at Steve’s nose.

Steve easily dodged, the muscle memory from his hand-to-hand combat experience in the military finally doing him some good. Steve grabbed the fist that was now where his head used to be and twisted it sharply, forcing Brock to spin with it to relieve the sharp pain. With his other hand, Brock clenched Steve’s forearm to pry his arm free. He then tugged Steve toward him to loop his arm around Steve’s neck until it was firmly in the crook of his elbow. He flexed his chokehold, cutting off Steve’s air supply for a precious second. Steve grasped at the arm across his neck, tugging roughly, and swept his foot inward to kick Brock’s feet out from under him.

Steve dislodged Brock’s arm as they both fell to the floor, narrowly avoiding hitting the coffee table. Steve had Brock pinned underneath him. As he readjusted and brought his fist back to wind up for a satisfying punch to Brock’s stupid face, he was roughly grabbed by the hips and tugged upwards.

Steve staggered to his feet, whipping around to see who had pulled him off of Brock and naturally readying himself to fight whoever it was. Bucky was there, glaring down at Brock, who was moving to stand and continue the fight.

Without looking at Steve, Bucky pushed him out of the way to whip his own fist at Brock. Bucky’s left arm whistled almost imperceptibly as it flew through the air, the metal plates creating wind tunnels, to connect with Brock’s jaw. 

Brock recoiled from the impact. Three scratches on his cheek leaked blood, presumably from the metal grooves of Bucky’s knuckles. He recovered almost immediately, like the professional boxer he was, and threw his own rough punch at Bucky’s head. Bucky tried to dodge, but was still too slow to miss the fist entirely, and he caught the brunt of it on his right eyebrow. It split and blood welled up, creating a stripe of shocking bright red dripping down Bucky’s temple.

Steve’s anger crested and he moved between Bucky and Brock, pushing Bucky back so he had space to maneuver (and maybe to protect Bucky from further harm). Steve was about to dive and pin Brock to the floor so he could incapacitate him, when they heard someone cry, “Hey!”

Sam grabbed Brock’s arm and with a surprising show of strength forced him away from Steve and Bucky. “Seriously, you guys? Two against one?” Sam said, exasperated, still holding back a thrashing and growling Brock. Steve and Bucky stood in place heaving heavy breaths from the adrenaline coursing through their bodies, unwilling to incite the wrath of Sam just to inflict more pain on Brock. 

It was then that Steve noticed camera people surrounding them, their lenses trained on them. They had recorded everything. Fuck. That wouldn’t look good on national television. Two of the camera men put down their equipment and rushed forward to help Sam hold back Brock.

Natasha stepped between the groups of men, first directing her attention to Bucky. “Do you need medical attention?” she said curtly.

Bucky swiped at the cut on his eyebrow with the back of his hand, smearing a crusty dark red stripe into his hairline. “No. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Natasha nodded and Steve thought she may have rolled her eyes, but the expression passed so quickly he couldn’t be sure. She then turned to Brock. “How about you?”

Brock had finally calmed down enough that Sam and the camera men weren’t holding him back, but they still stood close by warily in case he tried to tussle again. “Yes, I need medical attention,” he growled, rubbing his jaw and then examining the blood left on his palm. “And I want to press charges. They just fucking attacked me out of nowhere,” Brock whined, trying to play up the victim card.

“I don’t think that will exactly go well for you. We have everything on tape,” Natasha said, crossing her arms defiantly. Steve knew she was not resisting on Bucky’s and his behalf; it probably would just look bad for the show if a contestant tried to press charges against another, and maybe even lead to the show’s producers being brought to court.

Brock thought for a few seconds, teeth clenching. “Fine. But get me an EMT. I don’t want to get an infection because of that thing,” he spat, with a disgusted look at Bucky’s metal arm. Brock was pushed, rather roughly, out the door by Natasha with some of the camera crew following in their wake.

Steve impulsively stroked Bucky’s metal arm to reassure him he wasn’t deserving of disgust. Suddenly he realized what he had done, and he glanced up to read whether Bucky was perturbed by his touch. 

Bucky met his eyes with a confused, but decidedly not negative look.

Steve cleared his throat, and said quietly, “Let me help you clean that up. It’s my fault you got punched anyway.”

Bucky assented with a nod and led the way to the kitchen. Bucky leaned against the counter as Steve tore off a paper towel from the roll and dampened it in the sink. When he turned back to Bucky, he saw a camera person lurking trying to get footage of him fixing up Bucky’s eyebrow. For some unknown reason, Steve felt like this was an intrusion. Instead, he laced his fingers through Bucky’s metal hand and tugged him upstairs.

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked, baffled.

“Yeah, I just don’t want to be by cameras right now,” Steve said as he led them to their shared bathroom. He emphatically locked the door before the cameraman could slip in.

Steve faced the sink and braced himself on the counter. He let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging.

Bucky put the toilet seat down and sat facing Steve. “Are you okay?” he asked when Steve stood still, staring at the sink.

Steve lifted his head and said shortly, “Yeah.” He glanced at the crumpled, damp paper towel that was still in his hand and thought that he may be able to find better medical supplies. He kneeled to check under the sink for Band-Aids and came up with a whole first aid kit. Steve cracked open the seal and pulled out the Neosporin and bandages. 

“No offense, Steve, but you don’t seem okay,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve moved around Bucky to grab a clean washcloth “I’m fine. You’re the one who’s bleeding.”

“That’s my own fault. Seriously, what’s up?”

Steve ran the washcloth under warm water. He wringed the excess liquid out and then he put a hand under Bucky’s stubbly chin, tilting his face up so he could see the cut at a better angle. Steve couldn’t help but meet Bucky’s intense grey gaze as he dabbed the blood away gently. It was Bucky’s eyes that brought down his walls. “I just…. People like Brock really piss me off. He thinks he can say anything and do anything he wants with no respect for other people.”

“So you decided to beat him up?”

“Yeah, that wasn’t my finest moment. He was just saying rude, disgusting things about Peggy and he wouldn’t stop,” Steve said, trying to justify his actions, though he did regret starting the fight while being recorded. Steve continued to wipe the blood from Bucky’s eyebrow and temple, admiring every angle and curve of his face while he did so. The moment felt intimate, and Steve was reveling in the reality of holding Bucky’s face in his hands.

“Typical Brock. He deserved it,” Bucky mumbled.

Steve thought for a moment before asking the question that was burning in his mind, “Is that why you joined in?”

“Honestly, I saw you fighting and I figured you’d have a good reason,” Bucky said. He looked down, dark eyelashes brushing his cheeks. “You seem like a reasonable, calm guy, so if you were throwing punches it seemed like I should too.”

“I think there was a compliment in there. Thanks,” Steve joked lightly, but he was touched by Bucky’s impression of him. 

The blood was gone, leaving only a clean cut and Steve’s disappointment that his excuse for touching Bucky’s face was nearly at an end. Steve retrieved the Neosporin and squeezed a small amount on his finger.

“This may sting a little,” Steve warned, tilting Bucky’s head up again so he could rub the ointment on his wound. 

Bucky hissed when Steve rubbed the cut in small, soft circles. “Don’t be such a baby,” Steve jokingly insulted Bucky.

“Just as a reminder, I took a punch for you. You should be kind to me,” Bucky joked right back.

The Neosporin was sufficiently spread across the cut, so Steve reluctantly stepped back to rinse his finger. Steve picked up a small Band-Aid and covered the cut with it, with an edge of sadness.

“All done. Consider that repayment of my debt to you,” Steve said, looking down into Bucky’s shining eyes for a lingering second before pivoting to clean up the counter.

Bucky poked at the Band-Aid. “Thanks.”

Steve did not respond as he continued cleaning.

Bucky stood and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I hope you don’t feel guilty about me getting hurt. I’m the one who threw myself into the fight.”

Steve sighed and looked into the mirror in front of him to meet Bucky’s eyes, “I know. I feel guilty anyway.” Steve didn’t say that his guilt could be attributed to both the fight and his recreational activity in the shower that morning.

“Well don’t,” Bucky said with a final pat on Steve’s shoulder before he left the bathroom. Steve followed him back down to the kitchen, just a few steps back.

Natasha stood at the bottom of the stairs, apparently waiting for Steve and Bucky to reappear. She snapped a finger at them and pointed her finger to the living room, simply saying, “Date card.” They trailed behind her and joined the rest of the men milling about waiting for instruction. As Natasha arranged them for the date card scene, she noticeably placed Brock across the room from Steve and Bucky.

Tony was chosen to dictate the message. “Clint, Thor, Steve, Sam, me, and T’Challa,” he said, mispronouncing T’Challa’s name egregiously. “Let’s get out of here.”

Steve could not even consider what the cryptic statement meant, he was so disappointed to be chosen for a group date again this week. This feeling was doubled when he realized that Bucky would be going on a one-on-one date this week, since he was the only contestant not called.

Bucky had also just deduced as much, a smile blooming on his face, his eyebrows lifting and stretching the limits of the bandage. “I get a one-on-one,” he whispered excitedly to Steve.

“Congrats,” Steve said, forcing a happy facade. Once again, he was torn, unsure whether he was jealous of Peggy or Bucky.  
__

The six men and Peggy managed to solve the Escape Room with only seconds to spare. Steve played a significant part in finding the final key, but even this success did not ease the edge of anxiety he felt when he thought of how Peggy would inevitably ask him about the fight. Luckily, up until that point, the group had remained together so he had not gotten any alone time with her. He recognized the irony in being glad to not have one-on-one time with Peggy, but his desire to avoid talking about the altercation won out.

The group of men and Peggy then moved on to a restaurant in the city for dinner and drinks that the show had booked out for the evening. A hostess led the large group through the eerily empty dining room to a large table in the back. Several camera people and production staff were already there, filming their entrance. The group sat around a large, round table with a lazy Susan in the middle where plates overflowed with Chinese food. 

Tony was in the chair between Steve and Peggy, so he could only see her face in profile when Tony leaned back. This was perfectly fine placement for Steve as it aligned with his avoidance tactics. 

Halfway through the meal, Tony gestured to Steve with his chopsticks, flicking a few errant grains of rice at his shirt. “You, Mr. All-American, have barely said a word tonight. What’s got your star-spangled panties in a bunch?”

Steve’s face reddened, and he did not know how to respond to Tony’s blunt observation. He had been spared the scrutiny of the rest of the group, because they were good-naturedly talking about the latest top forty hits and had not noticed Tony’s side bar. He cycled through a few possibilities: “I don’t know”, “Because you’re sucking up all the air with your constant jabbering”, “I’m tired“, “I’ve just been eating. I was starving”. He ultimately decided flat-out denial was the way to go. 

“I’ve been talking,” Steve said. He immediately put a piece of chicken in his mouth so he had an excuse to not elaborate further.

Tony rolled his eyes and shrugged, not believing Steve’s bare-faced lie, but he uncharacteristically did not push Steve any further and rejoined the conversation with the rest of the men and Peggy.

After an hour, they had all eaten their fill and they were ushered to the bar for after-dinner drinks. Natasha told them that now was the time for them to take one-on-one time with Peggy. Tony immediately took Peggy’s hand and dragged her to the patio that had been reserved for these interactions. Peggy frowned slightly as her drink sloshed over the edge of her glass, narrowly avoiding her dress, because of the force with which Tony grabbed her.

Steve sat at the bar, nursing his scotch. Today, he had given himself permission to drink more than his usual one finger and had the bartender pour him a healthy two-finger glass. Sam watched him warily.

“You alright?” Sam said quietly, unsuccessfully trying to remain unheard by the camera booms.

“Yeah,” Steve said untruthfully and took another sip.

Steve sat in place as man after man met with Peggy for twenty minutes each, making no move to interrupt them and take his own turn. After nearly two hours, Peggy reentered the bar with Thor and approached Steve.

“Steve? Could you come with me?” Peggy asked.

“Of course,” he agreed with a strained smile, his nerves tightening due to the expected conversation they would have. He downed the rest of his drink, his head buzzing from the three others he had consumed while waiting, and moved to follow Peggy.

The patio was small with only a loveseat that would fit two people and enough space around it for two camera people. Steve sat next to Peggy on the couch, facing her and the LA skyline behind her. He focused on the twinkling lights in the distance until Peggy cleared her throat.

“I heard that you were involved in an altercation yesterday,” Peggy said bluntly, “Explain yourself.” She pursed her lips, obviously unhappy.

Steve was torn whether to tell Peggy what Brock was saying about her. He did not want to come off like a snitch or start any more drama than he already had because he knew neither would reflect well on him when the show was aired. Then again, there was a part of him that wanted to tell Peggy exactly what Brock said about her so she would have better insight as to why he was there and the sort of ill-reputed character he was.

Steve chose to toe the line between these options and be diplomatic, straightforward yet not revealing all of the horrible things Brock had said. “Brock came in after his date with you and started telling me about it. He said some extremely disrespectful things about you. I asked him to stop several times and when he didn’t, I admit I lost my temper,” Steve said slowly, choosing every word carefully.

“From what the production staff has told me, you did a little more than that.” Peggy’s opinion of Steve in that moment was indecipherable. 

Steve sighed, “Yes, I threw the first punch. I regret doing it, but I don’t regret making him stop talking about you in that way.” Peggy’s expression was still unreadable, so Steve continued trying to explain his position, “I’ve heard enough excuses about men’s disgusting ‘locker room talk’ in my life and I think it’s indefensible. I would have done the same if it was any other guy talking about any other woman. And I have.” 

Peggy nodded, accepting Steve’s justification. “Can you tell me exactly what Brock said?”

“I can if you really want me to. But honestly, it would make me uncomfortable to repeat those things.” Steve started mentally preparing himself to say the disgusting, sexually-charged statements that Brock had made about Peggy, his heart beating a little faster from the pressure.

Peggy obviously picked up on his reaction and assured him, “Your reticence to repeat what he said is good enough for me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Steve exhaled in relief, “Thank you.”

“I appreciate you stepping in on my behalf even though I was absent. I want to say that I don’t condone your methods, but honestly if I had overheard Brock, I would have punched him myself,” Peggy grinned wickedly.

Steve was hit by a wave of relief, and his heart finally slowed. “Maybe you’ll still get the chance,” Steve said under his breath.

Peggy smirked a little, indicating she had heard him. She then stood, their short time together coming to an end. “I hope we can speak more casually before the rose ceremony later this week, Steve.”

“I’ll make sure we do,” Steve said. He took a half step forward as an indication that he wanted to hug Peggy and waited for her to fold herself in his arms. To his glee, she did.  
__

The night of the rose ceremony, Steve was in the living room standing alone swirling his drink in the tumbler. He was considering what to talk about with Peggy when he was able to get so little one-on-one time with her, when his thoughts were interrupted by an arm slung around his shoulder.

Steve turned to see Bucky grinning crookedly next to him. “Hey, Steve. Long time, no see.” 

This was indeed the case. Despite the fact that they were rooming together, Steve’s late return after his group date and Bucky’s early departure for his date caused them to not see each other for almost two whole days.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve greeted. His curiosity got the best of him so he asked, “How was your one-on-one with Peggy today?”

Bucky took a sip of his drink, his right arm still on Steve’s shoulders. He bobbed his head from side to side as he swallowed. “I think it went well. We helped build a house with Habitat for Humanity which gave me a great opportunity to show off my guns,” he lifted his eyebrows several times. “Then we got an early dinner and talked. She’s a hell of a gal.” Bucky’s bravado dropped and continued more seriously, “I like her. Hope she likes me too.” Bucky took his arm off of Steve’s shoulders, leaving them feeling cold and curiously out of place.

“That’s good, Buck,” Steve said. The words felt like they burned his throat as he said them. He couldn’t help but be disappointed to hear that Bucky may be falling for Peggy.

By this time, the eight men were milling about waiting for Peggy’s arrival. The front door opened with a bang, causing both Steve and Bucky to jump and all heads snapped to face the door. 

Peggy stood on the threshold, turned to yell at someone behind her, “I don’t care about your precious ratings. I must do this,” she said sternly before whipping around and marching into the house. A figure in a long, black leather coat and wearing an eyepatch stepped to the abandoned threshold and stood watching Peggy’s confident gait. Steve remembered this man was Nick Fury, the show’s producer, whom he had met while filming in his apartment several weeks ago.

The men were all silent watching the tense exchange. As Peggy made her sure-footed path into the room, Clint jumped back out of her way as she made a beeline for her goal. She stopped directly in front of Brock, exuding threat despite being a head shorter than him, even when wearing heels.

“Hey, Peggy. I’m happy to see you,” Brock purred, somehow oblivious to her mood. “Want to go find a quiet corner and talk?” His emphasis on the word “talk” told Steve that he intended to do anything but talk.

This seemed to only infuriate Peggy even further. Her jaw clenched as she said in a strangled voice, “Get. Out.”

Brock's eyes widened and eyebrows life, a false expression of surprise and innocence. He put his large hands on Peggy’s shoulders. “What? What do you mean?”

Peggy brushed Brock’s hands off of her shoulders. “Leave now, Brock,” she said sternly, standing her ground. 

Brock gripped Peggy’s shoulder with one of his heavy hands again, disregarding her brush-off only seconds earlier. “I told you I’m falling in love with you. I thought we had something? I can’t leave you, baby,” Brock simpered. 

Steve could see straight through his facade. Peggy’s body language didn’t change, so he knew she was aware of Brock’s trickery too. “Leave or I will make you leave,” Peggy threatened.

“You don’t really want me to leave. You’re probably just scared of the intensity of what we have. I feel it too,” Brock said with exaggerated affection, squeezing Peggy’s shoulder.

Peggy’s facial expression immediately changed. She was suddenly smiling brightly up at Brock, eyes shining as she gazed into Brock’s eyes. “You’re right,” Peggy said softly. These words brought a matching smile to Brock’s face. She moved her hand to cover Brock’s that still gripped her shoulder.

As she still smiled, Steve saw her hand suddenly squeeze Brocks and wrench it with just the right angle and strength that Brock flipped onto the ground. He laid on his back sputtering with surprise as Peggy dropped his hand and stepped over him to hover one of her deadly stiletto heels over his neck.

“You’re right,” she repeated, “I feel intensely disgusted by you. Go now.” Peggy shifted her heel to the side only enough so Brock could stand without being punctured.

Brock rose to his feet, dusting himself off and purple with rage. He stepped forward, toe to toe with Peggy who remained immobile, glaring. “You’ll regret this,” Brock growled while shaking a finger in Peggy’s face.

Peggy grabbed Brock’s finger and roughly bent it back. Even from across the room, Steve could hear the crack of the finger breaking. 

Brock cried out in pain, clutching his finger.

“I hardly think so,” she said in her level, polished tone.

Two large men dressed in black swooped in to force Brock, still yelling and cursing at Peggy, out the front door and off of the show. The room fell silent, an emptiness compared to the commotion and noise before.

Peggy smoothed down her dress and patted her hair back into place. She then faced the other men and said primly, “I apologize for the unpleasantness, gentlemen, but it had to be done. Would one of you terribly mind pouring me a glass of champagne?”

Sam cleared his throat, “I’ll get it,” and stepped into the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Peggy said weakly.

The front door crashed open again, unexpectedly, causing the men and Peggy to tense, expecting that Brock was back. Instead Angie stood in the doorway out of breath, her normally-neat curls out of place.

“What the hell, Pegs?!” she cried, “You decked Brock?!”

Angie stomped into the room and placed herself in front of Peggy, who stood stock-still looking sheepish. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear to God if he hurt you, he won’t know what’s coming to him.” Angie lifted her delicate, long-fingered hands to clasp Peggy’s chin and gently turned her face from side to side, examining her for any signs of injury, tittering all along.

Peggy’s pink lips bowed into a small, sweet smile. “I’m fine, Ang. No need to fuss.”

“I’m going to fuss all I want because you just got into it with a brick wall twice your size. Come here.” Angie lowered her hands from Peggy’s face, brushing them down her arms until she clasped Peggy’s hands. She tugged Peggy gently to the end of the couch and commanded her to sit with just a tutting sound. Angie kneeled in front of her, and turned Peggy’s arms over to investigate for bruises and blood. Peggy’s milky white skin was perfect, not marred in any way by the violence, but Angie examined her nonetheless.

Sam reentered the room with a flute of champagne in hand. He lifted an eyebrow with confusion when he saw the position Peggy and Angie were in, but he did his duty and delivered the drink to a grateful Peggy without a word. Angie dropped one of Peggy’s hands so she could clutch the champagne glass to her chest and take sips intermittently, but she still clung tightly to the other.

“I’m going to kill him, Pegs. How dare he touch you!” Angie said, hatred emanating from her tone. This surprised Steve because all of his interactions with Angie had led him to believe that she was a kind and delicate person who would not say things like she just had. Her friendship with Peggy must be deep indeed.

“That’s not necessary, Ang. I did half the job myself after all and lived to tell the tale,” Peggy tried to make a joke to calm Angie.

“That just means the other half of the job is left up to me. Trust me, you won’t be seeing him again,” Angie said menacingly. Steve hadn’t known Angie had that sort of ferocity stored in her small frame.

“Now, Ang, don’t go hunting after him,” Peggy admonished, “The security team has already handled him and he will probably be halfway to the airport by now. We’re rid of him for good, no thanks to Nick.”

The anger in Angie’s eyes momentarily cooled and she asked, “What do you mean?” Steve took a silent step forward so he could hear their conversation better, his curiosity piqued.

“Nick wanted me to keep Brock on another week. Said having a villain on the show would bring up the ratings when we aired. I was willing to keep him around for the first two weeks, granted he seemed threatening but harmless. But after I talked to Steve,” Peggy glanced at him, and he slid his gaze elsewhere and took a sip of his drink trying to appear that he wasn’t listening. “I made Natasha show me the footage leading up to their fight. I was unpleasantly surprised by the extent of his depravity,” Peggy said with venom in her voice.

Angie’s face pinched with disgust. “Well, I’m glad you got rid of him. Nick should be ashamed of himself. I’ll be chatting with him later.”

“Oh, Ang, no. I don’t want to risk you losing your job over this. It’s not worth it,” Peggy said softly. She crossed her arm across her body to place her glass on the coffee table and then covered Angie’s hand with both of hers. Steve had to strain to hear what Peggy practically whispered next, “Plus, I need you here with me. I cannot imagine being here without you by my side.” 

Angie’s eyes shined with unshed tears. “Alright,” she whispered back. She sniffed and pulled her hand from Peggy’s so she could dab at the inner corners of her eyes. Angie then stood and said loudly, a stark contrast to the quiet tension only moments before, “But if another one of these fellas,” she turned to survey the men in the room with disdain, “does anything to hurt ya, they’ll be hearing from me.”

“And I certainly won’t stop you,” Peggy said with a smile as she stood. The two women gazed at each other for another moment with matching curves of luscious lips. 

Angie suddenly shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. “I nearly forgot, I have to do my job. There’s a rose ceremony tonight and I have to fix up your hair and makeup again. Come on,” Angie motioned for Peggy to follow her to a staging area outside.

The men were left alone again in a large, quiet room. The silence was broken when Tony suddenly said, “Shots,” not as a question but more of an order with which all of the men were happy to comply. 

The seven men crowded around the kitchen island, still processing what had happened and saying nothing. Tony laid out seven shot glasses and poured them to the brim with vodka, spilling some on the counter as he moved from glass to glass. He then slid each shot across the countertop to a man, the rumble of glass on marble bringing them all back to the present. 

“I can’t think of a toast. I just wanted a drink,” Tony said with a shrug and lifted his glass.

“To drinking,” Clint joked and brought his own glass to clink against Tony’s.

The rest of the men laughed and said, “To drinking,” and they lifted their shots to meet in the middle, clinking as they knocked them together. 

The vodka burned wonderfully as it slid down Steve’s throat and he resisted the urge to flinch from the sharp taste. A chuckle passed its way around the group along with more shots, poured by an already-red faced Tony. Steve figured this night couldn’t get any weirder so he may as well indulge a little. The men toasted to alcohol again and Steve downed his shot.

The clack of heels on the tile floor had all the men turn to face Natasha in the doorway, tapping her shoe on the ground impatiently. “Alright, guys, that’s enough fun for you. Back to filming the pre-rose ceremony cocktails.” She whipped around and stalked back into the living room, expecting them to follow, which of course they did (though a few may have groaned in disappointment due to the sudden end to their frat party in-the-making).

The seven men clustered in the living room, waiting for Peggy to return from hair and makeup so they would each have their turn to speak to her, and make their case for being asked to remain on the show, before the rose ceremony. Steve, Bucky, and Sam gravitated together by the couches.

“Do you think Peggy’ll still get rid of another guy tonight?” Bucky asked, a flicker of anxiety in the downturn of his lips.

“Probably. Usually the next week is when everyone travels together to an exotic location, so there’s probably a cap to the number of contestants who can go. Reservations and all that,” Sam said, ever the expert on reality show matters.

“I wonder who it’ll be,” Bucky said faintly.

Steve looked around the room, considering each man in turn, trying to extract reasons for why each should stay or go. He unfortunately knew little about the men’s developing relationships with Peggy because he did not want to ask and have his jealousy spike, as it seemed to be near-uncontrollable as of late. This inevitably led him to consider whether he would be asked to leave; he did start a fight a few days ago after all, which did not work in his favor. And maybe Peggy would not appreciate him trying to fight her battles, despite what she had said on their group date. 

Steve was spiraling down a negative hole of self-doubt, only to be pulled back out when the camera people all swung to face the door as one. Peggy alighted in the doorway, as radiant as ever thanks to Angie’s expert work. 

She stopped in front of the couches and greeted them, “Hello again, gentlemen. I apologize for the… interruption earlier. To be quite honest with you, I had heard about Brock’s,” she spit the name as if it were acid, “comments about me and I felt I had to immediately address them. I regret it came to violence, but I will not condone that sort of mentality.”

Steve nodded, agreeing with her non-apology for hitting Brock. It echoed his own sentiments about his fight with Brock that week. Buck and Sam hmmed in agreement as well.

“But let us move on from that because we still have the rose ceremony,” she shifted with the topic change to put a hand on her waist. “Some of you may be wondering how Brock’s ejection will affect the rose ceremony. I had the option to not eliminate any more of you this week –”

The stress left Steve’s body for a glorious moment, his shoulders falling and jaw relaxing.

“But I have chosen to proceed by asking two more men to leave the house tonight,” Peggy said without a trace of remorse.

And Steve immediately tensed again. This meant that only five men would be left next week, and what were the chances that he would be one of them?

Peggy continued, “I apologize if this has caught you off-guard in any way. I have simply made up my mind, so there will be no cocktail party tonight.”

A sharp intake of breath echoed around the room, all of the men shocked by Peggy’s announcement. Steve’s heart raced in his chest, threatening to escape the confines of his body. His uncertainty about his position in Peggy’s opinion was further exacerbated. A glance at Sam and Bucky told him that neither was confident in their status as well. Bucky’s brow was furrowed and lips pouted slightly, still unfairly unattractive despite the stress of the situation. 

“So, let us proceed to the rose ceremony room,” Peggy said with a sweep of her arm directing them to where they would film next. Steve was silent as they all shuffled to the room and into place on the risers, fully immersed in his spiral of anxious thoughts.

The rose ceremony began. Peggy lifted a rose in her fingers, pausing for dramatic effect for what felt like a full minute and then said, “T’Challa.”

The normally-serious looking man smiled brightly and moved forward to accept her offer.

Steve’s heart thumped, crawling its way up his throat as Peggy called name after name that wasn’t his.

“Sam.” Sam bounded down with a goofy grin and whispered something in Peggy’s ear as they hugged, making her smile in return.

“Clint.” Clint sighed in relief and stepped down, managing to tangle his feet together and stumbled the rest of the way to Peggy’s side.

“Bucky.” Bucky twitched his lips up in a beautiful crooked grin and strutted forward.

As Bucky returned to his place next to Steve, Peggy held the final rose in her hand. Her fingers worried the edge of one of the petals as she looked at the remaining three men who had not been yet asked by her to remain: Tony, Thor, and Steve. The silence was drawn out.

In that moment, Steve became further convinced that Peggy would ask him to leave tonight. As he started to panic about the prospect of leaving, a sudden thought intruded that soothed him:

Would it be so bad if he were asked to leave? This would not be his last chance at love. And this was an artificial attempt after all, since many men were all trying to date the same woman. This experience had also reminded Steve that he was able to make friends and connect with people, something he had forgotten after the months of isolation caring for his mother and then mourning after her passing. The blooming feelings he harbored for Bucky and Peggy had proven to him that he was able to feel again. Leaving would also absolve him of his multi-layered guilt: the guilt for his crush on an unsuspecting, probably-straight Bucky and the guilt for having a crush on another contestant when he was supposed to be pursuing Peggy.

Steve was pulled out of this disjointed thread of justification for why leaving would be an acceptable outcome by Peggy’s utterance of, “Steve.”

He stood in place, dumbfounded by the sound of his own name. Just as he had started to accept that he would be leaving Peggy (and Bucky) tonight, she had called him back to her, asking him to stay. Bucky nudged Steve’s shoulder with his own, urging him forward. Steve took a clumsy step down the riser and regained his footing so he could walk to Peggy with something close to confidence.

“Will you accept this rose, Steve?” Peggy asked, her eyes imploring.

He paused, his thoughts flashing back to what he had been considering only seconds before. Would it be so bad to leave? To give up being on this show and getting to know Peggy in favor of going home to try and pursue a more normal relationship?

Steve looked at Peggy’s face, examining her soulful brown and gold eyes, shining in the bright lights required for filming in the windowless room. He knew he liked her and wanted to continue to get to know her, but the structure of the show made him feel as if they had barely been on one date even if he added up all of their time together. He was unsure if what he was feeling for Peggy was romantic or more friendly admiration.

What Steve did know is that he was developing strong feelings for Bucky, with whom he had been able to spend entire days together, laughing and learning about each other’s lives and sharing some of their lowest moments while living in the house. Every time Steve brushed against Bucky or caught him watching him, his heart flipped in his chest and he felt lightheaded. Bucky’s bright, mischievous eyes and smirking lips, his muscular body, his otherworldly yet beautiful metal arm. But Steve was not only intensely attracted to Bucky, he admired his fierce loyalty, sarcasm, biting wit, and in those rare cases his inexorable kindness. But maybe this was only the effect of spending more time with Bucky than with Peggy.

Peggy’s plump, red lips turned down minutely, reminding Steve that he still had to answer her question.

“Yes.”

Peggy smiled, relieved, and moved to pin the rose to his chest.

His guilt welled up, overwhelming him as she fiddled with the pin to attach it to his jacket. Steve knew he had agreed primarily because he wanted to spend more time with Bucky. He was more invested in that relationship than the one he was supposed to have with Peggy. But he had already agreed to stay for her, and he felt a sort of giddy satisfaction at the prospect of spending another week with Bucky.

When the rose was situated properly, Peggy leaned forward with her arms outstretched, seeking an expected hug. Steve mechanically leaned forward to embrace her, arms wrapping around her waist, nose buried in her sweet-smelling auburn hair. She felt small in his arms and he welcomed the sensation, but he was still unsure about how he really felt about her because of the intense gap of what he knew about her personally.

The embrace broke and Steve walked back to his place next to Bucky on the riser. This walk, compared to the one he had just made to Peggy, felt as if he was walking toward a potential future with the dark-haired man beaming at him.

Bucky subtly put a hand on the small of Steve’s back and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Glad you’re sticking around, punk.”

Steve stifled a wide smile and chose to look at the ground instead of at Bucky’s stormy grey eyes.

“I’m sorry, Tony and Thor. This means you will not continue on to next week,” Peggy said, arms spread wide inviting them to come up and hug her goodbye. Tony shrugged off the rejection and wore his ubiquitous snarky grin. Thor looked disappointed but still gave Peggy a hug, lifting her, and telling her he’d miss her company.

The five men asked to remain crowded around Tony and Thor, wishing them goodbye. Steve said his farewells in a haze, still deep in the moment that had transpired between him and Bucky.

Natasha stepped into the middle of the room after Tony and Thor left. “Alright, gentlemen, I need you to line up on the risers again because Peggy has one more announcement.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at Steve, smugly and silently communicating, “Told ya.”

Steve rolled his eyes and got in line as requested. The men settled and filming began again.

“T’Challa, Sam, Bucky, Clint, and Steve, I am so happy to have you all continuing this journey with me. And I have some news for you.”

Two of the cameras spun to record the men’s reactions to the impending announcement.

“We will all be taking a literal journey together. Next week we will be traveling to my hometown of London. I cannot wait for you to see the city through my eyes,” Peggy said, exuding excitement at the prospect of going home. Her countenance then changed dramatically and she said flatly with a fake smile, “I can think of no better place to fall in love.”

Steve thought this line must have been fed to her by one of the producers as it seemed very unlike her. This was yet another reminder to him of how unnatural the process of the show felt. His lack of faith in the system was crowded out of his mind by the prospect of going to London with Peggy (and Bucky). 

Steve felt something bump into his side and he looked to see Bucky beaming at him. 

“London!” Bucky mouthed wordlessly.

Steve’s enthusiasm spiked in response to Bucky’s. He was looking forward to travelling with Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of the smutty scene: Steve masturbates to a fantasy about Bucky in their shared shower while Bucky is sleeping. Guilt ensues.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve jerked awake as the lights in the cabin were dimmed up, signaling they were about to land in London. He blinked a few times and rubbed at the inner corners of his eyes to clear them of the sleep that had collected there. It took him an almost-embarrassing amount of time to notice the heavy weight leaning on one of his shoulders. 

Bucky’s head rested there, sleeping soundly. He looked carefree and younger than Steve had ever seen. Steve stared at Bucky’s face, so close that moving mere centimeters would allow him to kiss Bucky’s forehead. He ignored that impulse and instead gave into another. Steve brushed a few strands of Bucky’s long hair off of his face and ran his fingers through the ends. Bucky’s hair was softer than he could have imagined and an attractive musky smell wafted from it that awakened the butterflies in his stomach. Steve found himself hoping that he could wake up with Bucky next to him more often in the future.

Steve’s action must have woken Bucky because his eyelids fluttered open. Bucky groggily looked up at Steve from his perch on his shoulder. “Morning,” he croaked, sleep still in his voice, and then snuffled.

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle, “Good morning.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and brows turned down. He shot up off of Steve’s shoulder to sit rigidly straight in his seat. “Sorry,” he mumbled, decidedly avoiding Steve and staring at the seatback in front of him, “Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“It’s alright,” Steve assured. He paused and then added, “I don’t mind.” This statement seemed heavily-laden with implications to him, and he was sure Bucky would be able to read his emotions like an open book.

But Bucky did not make any moves that indicated this. He just quietly said, “Thanks,” and then began digging in his carryon bag.  
__

The five jetlagged men arrived at a posh hotel near Hyde Park, led by a high-energy Darcy, excitedly pointing out various landmarks (and every single nude statue). Steve marveled at the grand lobby as Darcy spoke with the front desk worker to get their room assignments and keys. She then directed them to the elevator, waved a key card in front of a sensor, and pressed the button for the penthouse. Steve’s eyebrows flew up; this was far more than he had expected. He had only hoped for a bed to himself.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal a large living room bedecked with modern furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the park.

“Damn,” Sam swore next to him.

“Yeah,” Steve replied unnecessarily.

The group shuffled deeper into the common room and Darcy pulled out a sheet of paper from the packet she carried.

“There are three bedrooms in the suite. Clint and T’Challa, you’ll be sharing one,” and she stepped forward to hand them their room keys, “Steve and Bucky, you’ll be sharing -.”

Steve felt a rush of relief and dread as he grasped the card Darcy handed him.

“And Sam, you’re the lucky loner,” Darcy finished.

As the men split to put their bags down in their rooms, Steve was stopped by Sam’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, are you okay with your room assignment? Do you want me to room with Bucky instead?” Sam said under his breath, too quiet for anyone else to overhear.

Steve considered his offer. Rooming Bucky would give him the excuse he was seeking to spend more time with him, but then again, the angst due to his feelings for Bucky was getting more intense by the day. Maybe ceding his spot to Sam would be the best option?

“No,” Steve blurted, “It’s alright. I’m fine with it. Thank you for offering though,” Steve gave Sam an uneasy smile, already mildly regretting his choice.

“Sure, man. Let me know if you change your mind.” With another friendly pat on the back, Sam slung his bag over his shoulder and went to his room.

Steve took a deep breath and walked into his room. There were two queen-sized beds side-by-side, separated by a bedside table like most other hotels. A door across from the beds led to an en suite bathroom, meaning they wouldn’t have to share with any of the other men. 

Bucky was unpacking his things from his bag, resting on the far bed next to the window. Steve couldn’t help but notice a lock of his dark hair fall out of his bun and waft across his cheek. 

“I hope it’s okay, I took this bed. I like being able to see outside,” Bucky said as he unfolded a shirt and put it on a hanger. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” Steve said a little too enthusiastically, trying to act normal after being caught up in a daydream about brushing a strand of Bucky’s hair behind his ear and kissing where it had touched his nose. He dumped his suitcase on his bed and began to unpack.

After a few minutes of silence as they both hung up and put away their clothing, Bucky cleared his throat and asked, “Do you want to go for a walk? I mean, assuming they won’t need us for filming anytime soon.”

Steve hung up the last suit from his bag, thankfully not facing Bucky because he smiled so hugely that Bucky would have been able to see right through him. “Definitely. I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs and exploring a little. I’ve never been to London before.”

“Me neither. I want to get a chance to be a tourist for a bit before we’re stuck filming all week,” Bucky sounded excited by the prospect.

“Then let’s go!” Steve said, shrugging on a jacket to ward off the winter chill that was still in the air. “Ready?”

Bucky put on his own jacket and zippered it up. With a mock-serious expression, he nodded, “Ready. Let’s go.”

Steve and Bucky walked into the common room, where Darcy now lounged on a couch, idly playing with her phone. “Hey, Darcy. Is it cool if we go for a walk?” Steve asked, just to be sure that they were free to go. He would have felt bad if their adventure delayed filming and cost the show money.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just be back in two hours for filming,” she said, waving her hand dismissively without looking up from the phone screen.

“Thanks, Darcy!” Bucky said enthusiastically and ruffled her hair in a brotherly way.

“Hey!” she dropped her phone and looked at Bucky indignantly as she tried to smooth her hair. 

Bucky just laughed as he and Steve got into the elevator.  
__

Steve and Bucky walked side-by-side through Hyde Park, occasionally bumping elbows and shoulders. Each time this happened, Steve felt a thrill rush up his spine and he tried to quell the rising blush in his cheeks.

“Have you traveled much?” Steve asked Bucky, trying to casually learn more about the man he had a raging crush on.

“No. Well, I mean, sort of,” Bucky awkwardly stumbled over himself, hand shoved in his jacket pockets. “I went to a bunch of countries when I was in the Army for some ops, but I don’t know if that really counts as travelling. If you count only personal trips, I’ve never travelled. I barely ever left New York City before I enlisted. How about you?”

Steve calmed himself saying, “The same actually. When I was a kid, sometimes my ma would take me to upstate New York to get away from the pollution in the summer, but that was as far as I got before I joined the Army.”

“To get away from the pollution? What do you mean?”

“I was tiny and I got sick a lot when I was a kid. Like less than a hundred pounds soaking wet up until I turned eighteen. The hot smog in Brooklyn in the summer always irritated my asthma so ma would take off work and bring me to her dad’s old cabin by a lake so I’d have some time to really breath.” Steve thought fondly of some of his best memories with his ma in that cabin. Roasting marshmallows in the fire pit, canoeing together in the lake, sketching any new plant he saw as she patiently waited and gazed up at the treetops.

Bucky balked, “No way you were that small! I mean, look at you!” Bucky’s arms flailed up and down gesturing at Steve’s body.

Steve was used to this response, but for the first time he flushed with pleasure because of Bucky’s positive reaction to his body. “I swear it’s the truth. You should come to my place sometime and I can show you the photos,” Steve said without thinking. He suddenly thought it may be weird to invite Bucky to his home even though they both lived in Brooklyn, especially given the fact that Bucky did not know he had a crush on him, or much less that he wasn’t straight.

“Yes! I am so in. I still can’t believe that we’ve both been in Brooklyn for our entire lives and never ran into each other,” Bucky said. He squinted at Steve as if he could imagine him younger to suss out whether that had really interacted before but they had not recognized each other.

“Unless you ever saved a shrimpy kid picking a fight with two guys twice his side in an alleyway, I don’t think we ever met,” Steve joked.

Bucky rolled his eyes and his lips flattened, “Of course you did that. I should have known the second you decked Brock that you were trouble.”

“I’m not trouble,” Steve cried, “Trouble just sort of follows me.”

“Likely story,” Bucky said skeptically.

“Really! Things just happen and I have to react. Anyway,” Steve tried to smoothly change the topic, “I’m curious, where were you when you were deployed? Maybe we crossed paths then without knowing it?”

“Um, I was in Afghanistan for a while, and then a few other places I can’t really talk about,” Bucky frowned and trailed off.

“Special ops?” Steve asked delicately.

“Something like that.”

Steve sensed that Bucky was reticent to discuss his service but his curiosity got the best of him. “Is that how you picked this up?” Steve knocked a knuckle against Bucky’s metal arm with a hollow thunk.

Bucky’s head snapped up and Steve smiled at him kindly to assure him he meant no harm. This seemed to work because Bucky noticeably relaxed and smiled back. He took a deep breath, as if he were about to jump off a cliff and then said, “Yeah. Fulfilled my childhood dream of becoming a cyborg thanks to the enemy combatants who captured me. They had a scientist with them who was trying out some fancy new weapons and enjoyed torturing folks. I was his favorite lab rat.” Bucky tried to play off this disturbing statement with levity in his tone, but he did not succeed.

Steve processed what Bucky had said, horrified by the overview of his experiences and amazed by his strength. “Jesus fucking Christ. And I thought my time in the Army was bad,” Steve said, “I’m sorry. But I’m glad you’re here now.” He mentally finished the sentence with “with me”. Steve tried to infuse as much emotion in his tone as possible to communicate how deeply he cared for Bucky. 

“I am too,” Bucky said with a small smile. “Now it’s your turn to share your Army horror stories. I showed you mine so,” Bucky waggled his eyebrows.

Steve was unable and unwilling to let Bucky down by hiding his own baggage. “Fine, jerk,” Steve said, “I was in Afghanistan for a while too, but when I was promoted to captain they had me work with some British intelligence. I obviously can’t go into any detail, but long story, short, I found myself the only friendly soldier on an enemy aircraft laced with explosives set to go off at the exact time the plane reached a certain major city. They weren’t planning on just visiting; it was more of a final destination situation.”

Bucky nodded, understanding what Steve was implying.

With a sigh Steve continued, “So I did what I could, incapacitated the few guys on the plane and tried to reroute it so it wouldn’t explode over the city. Except the system wouldn’t let me reprogram the autopilot so I could parachute out, so I had to manually pilot the aircraft away from the city. My only option was to crash it into a body of water nearby to limit the damage done by the explosion. So I did.”

Bucky’s eyes had grown wide and his perfect lips parted slightly with astonishment as Steve had told his tale.

“I obviously survived the crash and explosion and was pulled out of the water by the Army a day later, barely a scratch on me.” Steve recognized the irony of his statement given that Bucky had lost so much during his service. It felt unfair, so Steve finished weakly, “I still don’t love being submerged in water though.”

Bucky waited a few seconds, making sure that Steve was done talking. He then exclaimed, “Holy shit, Steve. How did I not hear about that? Sounds like something that should have been all over the news for weeks.”

“Yeah, well the military and our allies didn’t want people to panic about potential terrorist attacks, so they quieted any chatter about it.”

“But, Steve, you’re a hero! You deserve recognition. You probably saved millions of lives.” Bucky stopped walking to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and catch his eye.

Steve instead looked down at the gravel beneath his feet, kicking a few of the small rocks with the toe of his sneaker. He had never liked being praised for those sorts of actions or being called a hero. “I was just doing my job,” he said quietly, “Anyway, you’re the real hero. You fought and survived being a POW. You’re amazing.”

Bucky scoffed indignantly and removed his hand from Steve’s shoulder, waving it as if to bat off Steve’s compliment. 

They began walking again, shoulders bumping, together in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

Bucky broke the silence, “So… you mentioned something about showing me pictures of awkward teenaged Steve?”

Steve groaned, “I regret saying that. But I guess I have no choice now. I’ll have to show you when we get back to Brooklyn.”

“Yes! It’ll be the highlight of my year, I’m sure,” Bucky said and stuck a hand in his jeans pocket. He retracted it, still empty, and gave an annoyed mutter. “I’m still not used to not having a phone on me. I was going to get your number so we could meet up, but I guess we can do that sometime later when our phones are released from reality show prison.”

The butterflies that seemed to reside permanently in Steve’s stomach when he was with Bucky fluttered. He was going to get Bucky’s number and they had tentative plans to spend time together outside of filming the show. He had to remind himself it wasn’t a date, just a friendly hang out. “Yeah, I’ll definitely give you my number or get yours as soon as I get my phone back. Is it weird how not-bothered I am by not having a phone? I’ve barely noticed its absence.”

“Yes,” Bucky deadpanned, “Yes, it’s very weird. Like you’re not even from this century or something. I am practically chained to my phone at all times. It’s felt weird not talking to my sister or my parents at least a few times a week. I miss them, and not having a way to talk to them has made me feel totally disconnected. I knew what I was getting into when I signed on for the show, but I had no idea how hard it would be.”

Steve spotted a flash of bright red in his periphery, giving him an idea. He grabbed Bucky’s hand, his fingers lacing perfectly between Bucky’s metal ones. “Come with me,” he said and dragged a very confused Bucky behind him.

Steve led them to a news stand a little further down the path they were walking on. As they approached, Steve regrettably extracted his hand from Bucky’s so he could reach into his pocket for his wallet. Bucky stood behind him, still baffled, as Steve spoke with the shopkeeper and exchanged some of the bills he had received from Darcy at the airport earlier that day for a handful of coins. He dumped these into his thankfully-large jacket pocket, nodded his thanks, and reached for Bucky’s hand again.

“Come on,” Steve tugged Bucky down the path again, making a beeline for the large, red box in the distance.

Bucky allowed himself to be dragged along, and squeezed Steve’s hand with his cold fingers. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”

Steve looked back to grin wickedly, “You’ll see.”

Bucky stuck his tongue out. “Fuck you, punk.”

“You wish, jerk,” Steve answered automatically, not thinking. The reality of what he had said hit him like a brick and the tips of his ears turned pink. Luckily, they had just reached the telephone box so he did not have to listen for Bucky’s response. He stopped walking and cleared his throat to interrupt Bucky in case he was about to reply. “Here we are.”

“What are you -,” Bucky paused, now staring at the bright red phone box, “Oh. Oh! Really? You think I can call my family on that thing?” Bucky asked excitedly.

Steve unlaced his fingers from Bucky’s again to grab some of the change from his pocket and drop it into Bucky’s outstretched palm. “I think it’s worth a shot,” Steve assured.

Bucky clenched his fist full of change to his chest, nodded resolutely, and stepped into the box. He left the door open so Steve could watch him plink a few coins into the slot and picked up the receiver. He dialed a few numbers and then waited. He leaned against the side of the box with the received wedged between his shoulder and his head, waiting for someone to pick up. Bucky worried his plump bottom lip with his teeth and it flushed with a burst of crimson where he bit it. 

Steve tried to focus on something else, playing with some of the remaining change still in his pocket.

Bucky suddenly stood upright and held the receiver to his ear with both hands. “Hello? Becca?” he paused, “It’s Bucky. Have you forgotten about your big brother already? It’s only been a few weeks!”

Steve smiled at Bucky, their eyes meeting for a moment. Bucky’s eyes shined with unshed happy tears which made his grey eyes impossibly more silver. Steve jutted his head to the side, indicating that he was going to step away and give Bucky some privacy. Bucky nodded gratefully and closed the door of the phone booth.

Steve sat on a bench only a dozen feet from the phone booth and leaned back to watch people wander by. After a few minutes, he noticed an older woman with shockingly white hair sit on the bench across the path from him. She only had a grocery bag with her, from which she took out a loaf of bread. She began to crumble a slice and tossed the pieces on the ground in front of her. Within a few seconds, a pigeon landed there and pecked at the ground, followed by several other birds. The woman continued methodically crumbling and scattering her bread and more pigeons collected around her. 

Steve fished into one of his pockets for his small palm-sized notebook and a golf pencil that he always carried in case inspiration struck. He opened the notebook to a blank spread and lightly traced a rough sketch of the scene in front of him. Time passed and the women and the birds remained so Steve was able to produce a near-realistic reproduction of the moment. As he shaded the feather patterns on one of the remaining birds, someone flopped down on the bench next to him and sighed.

Before he could look up, Bucky said, “Thank you.”

Steve determinedly continued sketching. “No thanks needed. I’m glad you were able to reach Becca.”

“Well thank you anyway. I never would have thought to look for a payphone because I’m not a million years old like you.” Steve could hear Bucky’s smile in his voice. “I’m glad she picked up. Luckily it was like eleven in the morning in New York, so I didn’t wake her. She thought I was calling to tell her I was coming home.”

“What did she say when you told her Peggy’s keeping your sorry ass for another week?” Steve asked, glancing up at the woman again to confirm he had shaded her eye shape correctly.

Bucky chuckled and spread his arms to rest them along the back of the bench. His forearm grazed against the top of Steve’s spine. “She was happy for me, but she said she’s missing me. Apparently, Mom and Dad are driving her up the wall because they have one less kid to smother with their love.”

“Well, you’ll be home within a few weeks at most,” Steve said, the pencil gliding against the paper as he filled in the background.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, sounding a little sad. He shifted to check his watch, “But you know, we’ll both be kicked off this week if we don’t leave for the hotel now. It’s nearly five and I don’t think I could handle Natasha’s disapproval if we delay filming.”

Steve put the finishing touches on his drawing and tore out the page. “Alright, give me one second,” he said, returning the notebook and pencil to his pocket. He stood and walked across the path to introduce himself to the woman still sitting there, feeding the birds. Steve gave her a short explanation for who he was and then offered her the sketch. Her face lit up when she saw his detailed portrait and she thanked him profusely. He blushed, shaking his head, insisting no thanks were necessary and then excused himself to return to Bucky.

Bucky watched him with a look Steve would have called fond if he were another man in another context.

“Alright, back to the hotel,” Steve said, and began walking back the way they came.

Steve thought that Bucky’s shoulder may have rubbed up against his more often than it had earlier. But maybe he was just imagining things.  
__

Steve was laying across one of the plush couches in the common room, idly reading a book as he had been all afternoon. Clint had been invited on a one-on-one date with Peggy, so the rest of the men had just been kicking around the suite that day, relaxing and recovering from jet lag so the dark circles under their eyes wouldn’t be amplified by the cameras.

The elevator dinged and opened, revealing a very flustered-looking Clint. His hair was pushed up in the front as if he had been nervously running his fingers through it and his jacket buttons were done up crookedly. Clint muttered “hey” as he breezed past Steve on the couch and went straight to the room he shared with T’Challa. Steve rested his open book on his chest and strained to hear whether Clint said anything to T’Challa, who was napping in the room. The only sounds that passed into the common room were that of the echoey zipper of a suitcase and fabric being thrown about.

Steve folded over the corner of his book to mark his page and tentatively got up and stopped in Clint’s doorway. Clint was throwing his clothing haphazardly into his suitcase.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked gently, both in an attempt to calm Clint and not disturb the still-sleeping T’Challa.

Clint kept throwing his things around but answered disjointedly, “No. Yes. I don’t know. I’m leaving though.” 

“Why? What happened?” Steve couldn’t imagine Clint doing something wrong like Brock and getting kicked off the show. The guy was kind of a disaster, but he was friendly and meant well.

Clint sighed and stopped his frantic movements around the room to stand a few feet from Steve. He ran a hand through his hair nervously and then crossed his arms. “Peggy said she liked me but couldn’t see a future with me, which is fine. I wasn’t really sure about how I felt about her, and she was super nice about it. So that’s why I’m packing.”

“Oh, Clint, I’m sor -,” Steve began to say, but he was cut off when Clint continued talking.

“But then, I did something really stupid.” Clint dropped his head into his hands, covering his face. His next statement came out as an unintelligible mumble, words muffled by his hands.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Steve asked.

Clint sighed as he lifted his head and crossed his arms across his chest again, his eyes sliding to stare at his shoes. “I asked out Natasha,” Clint muttered, exuding embarrassment.

Steve was shocked into silence for a moment. Convinced he had misheard Clint, he asked for clarification, “You did what?”

“I asked out Natasha,” Clint repeated with a groan, “Peggy dumped me and asked me to leave, and as I was walking off the set I saw Natasha and I just asked her out for coffee. Except it came out more like, ‘Coffee? With me? Yes?’,” Clint did a stuttering impression of himself. “I feel like such an idiot. She just stared at me, probably because she didn’t understand. Or maybe that was just her way of rejecting me.”

Steve considered the little he knew about Natasha (which boiled down to that she was great at her job and had fought hard to get to where she was). She didn’t seem like the kind of person to be shy about turning someone down. “It’s possible, but I’d like to think that she would say no to your face,” Steve said, “She probably just didn’t understand.”

“Yeah, I guess. That’s almost better considering I tried to ask her out like two seconds after being dumped on national television,” Clint said as he started to pack again. After a moment he said shyly, “But I really wish she had said yes. She is so strong and confident and she terrifies me. She’s amazing.”

“There’s still a chance she’ll say yes. Maybe,” Steve tried to reassure Clint, though he thought it was highly unlikely.

The dinging of the elevator in the common room drew both of their attention. Steve turned and Clint poked his head out of his bedroom door. They both expected Darcy or another set assistant to be coming to collect Clint.

The metal doors smoothly opened. Natasha strode toward them, her stiletto heels clacking against the floorboards and communicating dominance with every step.

“Clint,” Natasha said evenly, no gesture or tic betraying her purpose.

“Hey, Natasha. Is it time for me to go?” Clint tried to ask casually, a waver in his voice giving away his nervousness.

Natasha completely ignored what Clint had asked and instead asked her own questions, “I believe you asked me a question earlier. Want to ask again?”

Clint looked gobsmacked and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before he uttered, “Coffee? With me?” His face crumpled, disappointed by his terrible execution again. He took a breath and said, “Wait. One more try.” 

Natasha raised an eyebrow and smirked, but did not decline him another chance.

Clint released a long exhale and then asked, “Would you like to get coffee with me, Natasha?”

“Yes, I would, Clint,” she said.

And then Steve saw Natasha smile for the first time since he had met her over a month ago. She looked like an entirely different person when it lit up her face.

Clint sputtered, “Really?” in complete disbelief.

Natasha huffed a laugh and said, “Yes. Really. Now pack up your things.”

Clint complied and went back into the room to put the final few shirts in his bag. Natasha and Steve remained in the doorway watching. “Are you sending me back to the States?” Clint asked.

“That was the plan,” Natasha said, arms crossed and leaning against the door jamb, more laid-back than Steve had ever seen her (but still emanating power). “But fuck the plan. Want to stay with me?” she asked casually, tone not quite matching the seriousness of her question.

Clint stopped midway through zipping up his suitcase and glanced up at Natasha with wonder. “Stay? With you?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Natasha nodded with a smirk.

“Yes! Absolutely! Yes!” Clint said a little too loudly, waking T’Challa from his deep sleep. 

T’Challa rolled away from the doorway with a groan, and tangled himself in the sheets.

Clint grimaced and loudly whispered, “Sorry.”

This apology was met with another grunt. 

Clint picked up his bag and glanced around the room to ensure he hadn’t left anything. This done, he left the room closing the door behind him with another loud whisper, “Bye, T’Challa. I’ll see you again soon. Probably.”

Clint stopped between Steve and Natasha. “So you said something about staying with you?”

Natasha smiled and jutted her head to the elevator. “Come on,” and she looped her arm through Clint’s.

The couple stepped onto the elevator together and turned around to face the open doors and common room. 

Steve waved them farewell, not wasting time on goodbyes since he was sure he’d see Clint again.

Just as the door began closing, Clint suddenly unlooped his arm from Natasha’s and shoved his hand in front of the metal door. It bounced back from the pressure. Clint cried to Steve overdramatically, “Wait, Steve! Tell my story so I may live on in your hearts.” 

Steve chuckled, “Sure, man. I’ll tell the other guys. See ya around the set.”

Clint beamed, “See ya.” He turned back as the doors closed again and Steve though he saw Clint drop his bag and embrace a very willing Natasha.

Steve was alone again in the common room, happy for Clint and Natasha, and yet aching about his own nonstarter of a behind-the-scenes romance with Bucky. He was still standing by the couches considering his predicament when he heard the soft padding of socked feet entering the room.

“What are you doing?” asked a confused Bucky, voice still scratchy and warm from a nap.

Steve smiled, fondness for Bucky welling up, “You’re not gonna believe what just happened.”  
__

Steve sat in a quiet tea shop near the hotel, sketching absentmindedly and sipping some of the best tea he had ever tasted. Bucky, Sam, and T’Challa had been chosen for a group date, so Steve had the day to himself. He’d spent most of it wandering around the neighborhood until he spotted what looked like locals going into this storefront. He ducked in as well, naturally trying to immerse himself in the culture of where he went. When he was in the army, he thought it important to understand the culture and people of where he was fighting and never think of them only as “the enemy”. This translated to his experience now, his first time traveling for pleasure (or for work, depending on how you defined being on a reality TV show).

Steve had not noticed that the sun had set at least an hour ago. He was determinedly trying to remember the exact shapes of the metal plates that made up Bucky’s arm as he sketched a profile of him from memory. He could exactly reproduce his dark, humorous eyes and crooked smirk that he was so attracted to, but recently he had been so enamored by the beauty of the metal prosthetic as a whole that he struggled to remember the details. Steve closed his eyes, rolling his pencil between his fingers, and thought back to when he had cleaned Bucky’s arm in the paintball locker room after being hit by the paint grenade.

Mentally he began by caressing the grooves at Bucky’s shoulder, recreating the wide pieces in his mind. Those details held firmly in his mind, he shifted down to consider Bucky’s bicep and elbow. The angled plates gave way to soft curves the interlocked intricately to allow the prosthetic to bend just like Steve’s own arm, but the metal covered a much stronger, more powerful limb than Steve’s. At no point did Steve feel frightened or intimidated by the shining musculature. He mentally mapped out the rounded grooves of the elbow and followed their path to Bucky’s forearm. The plates there resumed the angular pattern begun at the shoulder, and each plate ended in a sharp point, resembling knives neatly arranged side-by-side in a kitchen drawer. The edges of the pieces tapered off, further giving the impression of a sharp threat. Steve’s head tilted slightly, his eyes still closed, as he followed the angle of these plates downward to Bucky’s wrist. His knuckles were made up of an interlaced honeycomb pattern, a delicate yet functional detail that Steve thought was most representative of Bucky’s nature. Concentric circles lined their way up Bucky’s long fingers. He meditated on each finger, from thumb to pinky, for a few seconds, remembering how it felt to stroke each one as he polished it.

He stifled a moan when he impulsively thought of putting Bucky’s index finger in his mouth and swirling his tongue around the thick digit. He imagined it would taste slightly metallic but, at its core, would have tones of Bucky’s essence, whiffs of pine and something hauntingly sweet. 

Steve shifted in his chair to accommodate the changing fit of his pants. He bumped the table absentmindedly, and his teacup clattered in its saucer, aggressively reminding him that he was in a tea shop in London and very much in public. Steve surreptitiously glanced from side to side to ensure no one had witnessed his sordid day dream. He scooted his chair forward and quickly sketched the details of the arms that he had just conjured, not the least bit concerned that the intricate patterns would ever evacuate his mind. It felt as if the angles and curves of Bucky’s arm would be burned into his memory forever.

With a final, sweeping stroke of his pencil, Steve declared his portrait of Bucky done. He glanced at the street outside the storefront window, realizing how late it must be, so he packed up his things and walked back to the hotel. 

When the elevator doors opened, Steve stepped into what felt like a den of chaos. The three other bachelors were boisterously laughing, several bottles of tequila scattered on the coffee table with glasses for each of them. One bottle had taken a tumble onto the carpeted floor below, but it appeared it had been empty when it fell because both the bottle and rug were unharmed. Without warning, Bucky threw a pillow from the couch at T’Challa’s head with frightening accuracy. T’Challa snatched it out of the air with cat-like reflexes a mere centimeter before it collided with his nose, still laughing.

“That’s not why they’re called throw pillows, guys,” Steve interjected, shoving Bucky over so he could sit on one end of the sectional.

Sam and T’Challa uproariously booed at Steve’s bad pun.

Bucky clapped him on his shoulder as a welcome with a big, drunken grin. “Hey, Stevie,” he drawled, sliding his metal hand from Steve’s closer shoulder to the further one, effectively wrapping his arm around Steve. 

Steve’s heart jumped into his throat as he mentally flashed back to the intimate moment he had imagined in the tea shop. “So how was your group date? Based on how drunk you all are, seems like it went well,” Steve asked, trying to cover up the rush of embarrassment he felt.

It went well for some of us,” Sam said, looking accusingly at T’Challa.

“What?! I did what I had to!” T’Challa said trying to absolve himself of any blame, his enunciation still impeccable despite his state of inebriation.

“What did he do?” Steve asked Sam, who still seemed grumpy about the matter.

“He kissed Peggy on our group date! Everyone knows it’s rude to make a move on a group date!” Sam said, huffing and folding his arms.

T’Challa sat up, defending himself, “Well, what else was I supposed to do? Hometowns will probably be next week and I hadn’t kissed her yet. I did not want to take the chance by not going for it this late in the game.”

Steve’s heart continued its path up his throat, now for a reason other than Bucky’s arm still wrapped securely around his shoulders. He hadn’t thought that perhaps his relationship with Peggy was moving slower than those with the other men. He could have kissed her on his last group date or the one before that, but he had wanted to take things slow and he felt that he still had a lot to learn about her. It wasn’t that Steve was a prude, he was just old fashioned. Having cameras around all the time (and knowing that he could mess up Angie’s makeup work) also impeded any plans to kiss Peggy as well. 

Steve surprisingly hadn’t considered the physical nature of Peggy’s relationships with the other men. “Have you guys both already kissed Peggy?” Steve asked Sam and Bucky, already expecting and dreading their affirmative response.

“Yep,” Bucky said, smacking the ‘p’ sound with his lips. Steve was unprepared for the sudden flood of jealousy in his system. He now knew that he was jealous that Bucky was kissing someone other than him, not that Peggy was. Steve stifled any expression of this emotion on his face.

“Of course,” Sam said as if it were obvious.

“Well both of you guys had one-on-ones where you had a little more flexibility to make a move. I, on the other hand, have been stuck in group dates week after week, so this was my only choice.”

Sam frowned for a moment and then uttered, “Fine. That makes sense. But I’m still not happy about it.”

Steve looked at Bucky’s face, so near his own, to read his response to T’Challa’s actions. Bucky appeared unbothered, still smiling and just shrugged after Sam’s declaration of forgiveness.

Steve was the only one in the room who had not kissed Peggy, and he felt a metaphorical pressure on him to kiss Peggy on their first one-on-one date tomorrow. Anxiety pooled in his stomach, and he told himself this was just because of the cameras and odd dating situation he had gotten himself into. It definitely wasn’t because he would prefer to be kissing Bucky. Definitely not.

Steve shifted a modicum closer to Bucky on the couch. Bucky responded by tightening his arm around Steve’s shoulder slightly so the tips of his fingers tickled Steve’s clavicle.  
__

Steve leaned against the wall of the terrace at Westminster Abbey, hands buried in his coat pockets trying to keep them warm on the cool, April night. He and Peggy had spent an amazing day at the Churchill War Rooms, which had been reserved solely for their date. They had wandered through the exhibits taking in the amazing tokens of history stored beneath the streets of London. It turned out that, like himself, Peggy had a passion for World War II history, and they had spent the entire afternoon trading bits of information they had read about individuals, strategy, and lesser-known events from the war. Even in the harsh, fluorescent lights of the cavernous subterranean museum, Peggy looked beautiful, eyes shining and a large smile brightening her face where the lights could not.

After consuming all there was to see at the museum, they had walked hand in hand a few short blocks to Westminster Abbey. Steve had assumed that they would just tour it as they had the museum and then head elsewhere for an evening meal, but it turned out that the show had booked the Abbey’s terrace for their intimate sunset dinner (if you ignored the ever-present cameras).

Wood paneling on the ceiling gave way to sun lights and floor to ceiling windows so they could see the pink hue of the sun reflecting off of the Abbey’s west towers as they traded more war trivia over their sumptuous meal.

After eating, Natasha urged them outside onto the terrace where the crew had placed numerous candles on pedestals to infuse a romantic mood to the cold, wet night air. As they moved outside, Natasha grabbed the lapel of Steve’s coat to stop him.

She looked at him seriously and said, “If you two keep talking about World War II, I will end you. This isn’t what our viewers want to see. Talk about something else that everyone can understand.” She then released him, straightened his collar, and led the way onto the terrace.

As he leaned on the railing, staring up at the towers with Peggy silently leaning by his side, he racked his brain for any appropriate conversation topic. He went for the obvious. “I’ve loved what you’ve shown me of London. Are you ever planning on moving back? Or will you stay in Hawaii? Or maybe go somewhere else?” he asked.

“I have thought about this a lot, especially after being on The Bachelor last year and being the bachelorette this year. Typically, you’re expected to move wherever the bachelor is because it’s assumed that your career is less important than his…,” Peggy trailed off, frowning.

“And you do not agree with this assumption?” Steve prompted.

“Absolutely not. It’s a part of why I left last season. I chose to come back and be the bachelorette because I thought I could make my own rules and fill the position how I wanted.” Peggy still brooded, looking at the towers in the distance. She then shook her head, clearing her expression. “Sorry, back to your question. Yes, I have considered moving to London. But as you may have gathered, my career is very important to me, and my next step up would likely bring me here or Washington, DC. I probably will not live in Hawaii much longer.”

“Well I’m liking London so far and I’ve heard great things about DC, so those options don’t sound so bad,” Steve said, trying to contribute to the conversation despite having barely left New York in the past.

Peggy nodded and then turned to make eye contact with Steve. “Would you consider moving away from New York?” she asked.

Steve knew this was a test. He sighed, resisting the urge to look away from Peggy. He answered honestly anyway. “I don’t know. I find it hard to imagine leaving Brooklyn because it’s been my home my whole life. Even though my ma is gone, I still feel like I have to stay for her,” he paused and then decided to hedge his bets, “But, I don’t know. I guess if something truly amazing came along, I would be willing to live somewhere else.” 

All of what he said was true, he just wasn’t sure if Peggy was the something amazing he needed quite yet. He had a feeling deep in his chest that she wasn’t.

Steve gazed down into Peggy’s deep brown eyes. They sparkled from the candles that flickered around them as a gentle breeze blew. He impulsively glanced down at Peggy’s full, red lips.

Steve knew this was the perfect moment to share his first kiss with Peggy. Surrounded by candles with the towers of the Abbey in the distance, having just said he would be willing to move for the right person, this was it. The moment was cinematic, manufactured by the show’s crew, and he had stumbled into saying exactly the right thing. He felt like the point guard had just passed him the basketball, expecting him to make the game winning shot.

The moment’s tension laced with the heavy expectations from the production and camera crew that surrounded them weighed on his shoulders. He leaned down, bowing to this weight, and brought his lips near Peggy’s, stopping a hair’s breadth from touching. 

Peggy closed the distance. She softly pressed her lips to his.

Peggy’s lips tasted sweet and fit perfectly with his. Steve placed a hand gently on her cheek to deepen the kiss, but was certain to not overstep any boundaries.

Steve could hear the rising symphony in his head that would inevitably play over the scene when it was edited. But he knew that what he was feeling did not match the emotion of this soundtrack. His own internal orchestra played a cacophony that was far from any sort of harmonious melody.

Steve liked Peggy and he deeply respected her and admired her tenacity and determination to stick to her own moral code. But he was still unsure if his feelings for her would deepen into love. The fabricated dating process that the show used was far more restrictive that what he had expected when he signed on to take part. He had barely spent any time with Peggy alone, truly alone without any cameras or staff or her other suitors around, so he was unable to really determine if they were compatible. They obviously had much in common, but he wasn’t sure if the spark of romance was really there or something that the careful staging had influenced him into thinking.

Peggy pulled back an inch or so, ending the kiss but still gazing into Steve’s eyes. “Finally,” she sighed.

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “You could have kissed me earlier if you wanted,” he pointed out, still cradling her face in his hand.

Peggy grinned wickedly. “Yes, but watching you fidget about nervously trying to make a move was so much more amusing.”

Steve’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized that Peggy was able to read him so openly, despite his attempts at schooling his expressions. “I wasn’t –,” he tried to deny her allegations, but Peggy interrupted with a ringing laugh.

“You were,” she said, still chuckling. Peggy pulled back further and fell back onto her heels from the tip-toe she had been on to reach Steve’s lips. 

Steve dropped his hand from her cheek and nervously brushed it through his hair. “Oh well, I hope it was worth the wait.”

“It was,” Peggy affirmed confidently, without a trace of a joke in her tone.

An arm waving in his periphery forced him to glance in that direction. Natasha waved out of the shot, indicating they should stop filming for a moment. He nodded and stepped back further, pointing to Natasha for Peggy’s benefit. She stepped back as well, rolling her eyes, and she muttered under her breath, “I hate this.”

Angie swooped in from out of nowhere with her makeup bag strapped across her chest. She did not respond to Peggy’s statement, but instead began to reapply the foundation and lipstick that had transferred itself onto Steve’s face. 

“Hey, Angie,” Steve greeted the back of her head as she worked on Peggy. “Sorry if I made your job harder. I guess it’s just sort of an occupational hazard on this show though,” he tried to joke, remembering how Angie complained about how other men’s beards had rubbed off Peggy’s makeup.

Angie just emitted a low, “Hm,” and continued patting foundation on Peggy’s chin.

Steve frowned. From his previous interactions with Angie, this seemed out of character for her, but he decided not to push her further.

Peggy kept her face still as Angie flicked powder across her cheeks and nose, but when the breeze picked up again she folded her arms and shivered a little. “It’s a chilly night for early April. Are you cold, Angie?” Peggy tried to strike up a conversation.

“No,” Angie said, the lack of warmth in her tone mirroring the aforementioned weather. With a final flourish Angie declared, “I’m done.” She turned to Steve and tossed him a wet wipe from her bag. “Get the lipstick off your mouth,” Angie snapped and then stalked off.

Unbidden, Steve’s eyebrows raised with surprise from Angie’s dispassionate treatment, but he did as she asked. “Did I get it all?” he asked Peggy.

Peggy stared off to where Angie had disappeared between a small cluster of assistants. “Yes,” she said faintly, still staring in the other direction, not even bothering to look back at him.

This struck him as odd, but he supposed that she and Angie must have become good friends during the past two seasons. Angie’s cold shoulder must be the result of an argument between them. Steve hoped that they were able to mend their friendship, because he knew that being the bachelorette must be an isolating experience, more so than being one of the contestants.

Peggy finally turned back to him. “Sorry, where were we?” she asked, trying to reorient herself after the interlude.

“You’re now saying goodnight to each other,” Natasha called from a few feet away. “We’re ready to go.”

Peggy nodded. She waited a few seconds for the movement from the crew to settle, and then said, “I had a lovely time with you today, Steve.” She smiled brightly, but he thought he could still see a level of apprehension in her eyes, signaling she was still worried about Angie.

“I had a great time too, Peggy,” Steve agreed, “I hope we get a chance to spend more time together.”

“The outlook seems good,” Peggy replied, some of her anxiety draining, replaced with warmth.

Steve wasn’t sure if he was happy with this response.  
__

The four men stood in a line in the center of their hotel’s grand ballroom, waiting for the rose ceremony to begin. The austere, large wooden room had been partially transformed for filming. Carpets had been brought in and placed around where they stood for the ceremony to soften the sounds of their feet when they walked to and from where Peggy was. A small pedestal stood next to Peggy with crimson silk resting over whatever small objects it hid.

“Okay, we’re ready to film,” Natasha called out. 

The men fidgeted to ensure they were in the straight line Natasha had placed them in.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Peggy began with a smile.

The men echoed back their own greetings.

“As you may have noticed, for the second week in a row, I have chosen to omit the pre-rose ceremony cocktail party. This is because I know what I am going to do and whom I will choose to stay. I hope you all understand and respect my decision.”

Steve nodded.

“With that, let us begin.” Peggy pinched the crimson fabric and lifted it to reveal four red rose boutonnieres. Peggy smiled and explained, “I have chosen to keep you all for the next week.”

All of the men sighed with relief and laughed.

“And I am happy to say that next week will be hometown dates. I will be visiting you each individually in your hometowns for dates you plan and to meet your loved ones.”

Steve heard Bucky victoriously sigh, “Yes.” He must be looking forward to seeing his family.

“But that doesn’t mean we will completely shirk tradition,” Peggy said and picked up a rose. “Steve,” she called.

Steve stepped forward to Peggy. 

She asked the requisite question that he dreaded, “Will you accept this rose?”

He thought for a moment, considering whether it would be immoral of him to accept if he was still unsure of the depth of his feelings for Peggy. But then Steve figured getting to see her in Brooklyn, where he was most comfortable and in his element, may shed some light on the situation. Plus, he’d have a whole day to spend with her where he could hopefully get to know her better.

“Yes,” he answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ finalfrontierpioneer ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalfrontierpioneer/pseuds/finalfrontierpioneer) has made an amazing season poster for my fic! You can check it out [ here!](https://finalfrontierpioneer.tumblr.com/post/641705203543031808/a-little-fanart-for-the-bachelors-by)


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